


Connected by a Wire

by Ritsy, SebasuchansKitten



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bullying, Creepy, Drug Use, Father/Son Incest, Gore, High School, Horror, M/M, So Spooks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 151,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritsy/pseuds/Ritsy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebasuchansKitten/pseuds/SebasuchansKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving comfortably in society is everyone's primary goal, and for Sebastian Michaelis, this is no different. He forces himself to attend his dreary office job in order to provide for himself and his son, Ciel, and though the bills are never-ending and the routine is dull, they live normal lives in an ordinary town. But in a spur of a moment, things begin to spiral into chaos. Suddenly, everyone close to Sebastian begins to disappear into thin air, or even worse, into the ground. His employment is hanging by a feeble thread, and his son is having strange, intense abandonment issues. All things are connected, however, and Sebastian discovers this fact soon enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strained Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening, everyone! I hope you all are having a pleasant day/night! ^-^ So, Ritsy-Roo and I decided to post another collab (we've apparently been having new-story fever as of late) and we're really excited for this one. We've been working on this for a while, and our anticipation was so great that we just had to post it. Like our other collaboration, he will be taking over Ciel's role, and I'll be managing Sebastian. We'll put their names in each chapter so you'll know who is speaking. So we hope you enjoy! ^-^

                When I was in high school, I never imagined that I would have this job.

                Sure, maybe I was going through my own little midlife crisis, and perhaps my aged brain was stuck in the somber state of wondering what might be and regretting all of the opportunities I missed out on, but after being the star quarterback and recalling the stack of scholarships I had received at the end of my secondary schooling, I would have never dreamt that I'd be stuck in this dump.

                Multiple phones ringing at once echoed off the walls, along with people answering and repeating the same monotone greeting over and over again. The soft sound of clicking could be heard from each separate cubicle; sometimes the never-ending typing was enough to drive someone mad. I found my eyes flicking up to the wall in front of me frequently, only to be disappointed to find that time wasn't passing as fast as I hoped.

                Mondays were the worst days, specifically because they were our busiest days. After closing the office for the weekend, you could guarantee there would be at least twenty fucknuts who could've called on Thursday or Friday, but chose to wait until Monday because their oxygen-deprived brains worked like that. And to add to my own and my coworkers' suffering, our boss was always exceptionally pissed off and less tolerant on Mondays; probably due to the fucknuts, so he made our lives a living hell on top of the hell we were already experiencing.

                I suppose at this point, it would proper to introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Michaelis; I’m a thirty-two year old male, and to sum my life up in a few words, I’m stuck between juggling a job, a son, and a personal life, something that I don’t really have anymore. I’m not very old – at least, in my opinion I’m not – yet I no longer have as many friends as I used to, and I’m lucky if I get time to relax. My family isn’t dirt poor, but we’re not extremely well off, either, and, considering that my son is already in high school and his hobbies are starting to broaden, it’s my responsibility to make enough money for him to embrace his passions. Though, with all of the stress I had been piling on myself, I hoped that grey hairs wouldn’t start sprouting from my scalp; I dreaded the day when my inky hair was no longer natural, rather, artificially dyed.

                My fingers rose to my collar and awkwardly adjusted the black tie around my neck, a small cough sounding from my throat in response. Even though I worked an office job, our dress code still had to be as proper as possible, which for me consisted of black slacks, suit jacket, tie, and a white shirt. Why we had to dress up like a monkey to answer phone calls and type reports, I didn't know, but it bugged the shit out of me. As a man who enjoys the outdoors and kicking back with a beer as often as I'm able, t-shirts and jeans go as well together as peanut butter and jelly for me. I hated suits, I hated ties, I hated loafers, and I definitely hated being on a computer and phone all day when I could be hiking or playing basketball.

                I leaned back in my chair and huffed, my hands quickly rolling up the cuffs on my shirt so my arms could breathe. They may make me wear a ridiculous outfit to work, but they certainly couldn't stop me from getting comfortable once I was in my cubicle, and I did exactly that. As soon as I got to my office in the morning, the jacket came off and became a decoration for the back of my chair, the long sleeves on my shirt got rolled up, and the choking device around my throat was loosened until my lungs were able to suck in a breath.

                The sudden sharp tone of my office phone ringing startled me, and I cracked my knuckles before I picked up the receiver. "Good morning, you have reached United Trust Insurance, this is Sebastian Michaelis speaking, and how may I be of service?"

                "Yeah, I-I have a bone to pick with your company," an elderly lady squeaked, and I rolled my eyes. I wished I could say that I didn't receive these kinds of calls often, but I did, unfortunately. As someone who works with and knows insurance companies well, I was fully aware that their only goal was to screw people over and steal all the money that they could in the process. Did I like fucking up somebody's life and snatching all their money away? No, and I refused to do so. Whenever I answered calls like these, I let someone else handle the issue so I didn't have to assume a money-grubbing savage position. Did I wish I could stop insurance companies from being so corrupt? Of course I did, and I hated working at this place; but something has to pay the bills.

                "What seems to be the problem, Ma'am?"

                "I tell ya, I'm about sick and tired of waiting so long. I just got in an accident four months ago, I'm still banged up and trying to figure out what to do about my medical bills, and I asked if I'd have a change in policy. You guys asked for a copy of the police report to figure out if my policy is going to change, so I gave it to you bastards a month ago and I still haven't gotten a call."

                _Whoa,_ I thought, my eyes widening as I reclined back. _Granny's got guts._ "I apologise for the wait, Ma'am. Unfortunately this isn't my area of expertise, so I'm going to direct you to a customer service representative, all right?"

                "Now, wait just a damn-"

                I heard a soft _click_ as I cut her off by putting her on hold, and then I promptly dialed the three-digit extension that belonged to customer service. As feisty as she was, I couldn't help but feel bad for the old hag. It wasn't her fault that she got into an accident, (or maybe it was) but she sure as hell didn't deserve to be fucked by the big scary insurance monsters, especially after whatever injuries she acquired.

                Lacing my fingers together, I put my hands behind my head and sighed. _Why couldn't I have just gone to college?_

                "Hey, hey, hey, it's Mr. Michae-lis," I heard a voice enunciate, and I turned my head to see my friend Bardroy standing in the doorway, a box of doughnuts in his hands. "I got the goods," he continued, gesturing down at the pastries.

                "Raspberry filled?" I questioned, scooting my chair back to give him some more room. He set the box down on my desk and flipped the lid open, his hands immediately grabbing a glazed doughnut on top.

                "Of course," Bard said, his voice muffled as he took a huge bite out of the sugary delight. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my favorite cellmate."

                I chuckled at the comment and helped myself to one of the treats, my eyelids closing and my ocular organs practically rolling back into my skull from the sheer ecstasy of the raspberry cream hitting my desiccated tongue.

                "This is the shit," I groaned pleasantly, my teeth going in for another helping. "This is definitely the best part of working in this hellhole."

                "Tell me about it," Bard agreed, scarfing down the last piece of his doughnut before licking his fingers. "So, what are your plans tonight? Wanna meet at the court and shoot some hoops? I wanted to play some football but Eliot field isn't open yet."

                I shook my head, grabbing a napkin off the corner of my desk and setting my half-eaten pastry down on its surface. "Can't. It's Monday. I'll probably have to help Ciel with his homework."

                "Oh right," Bard hummed, leaning against the wall and crossing one leg over the other. "How's the kid doing in school?"

                "Straight A's," I answered, slowly swiveling in my chair from left to right in my usual bored fashion. "But he still needs help with his homework from time to time. Now that he's in high school his teachers aren't as forgiving as they used to be."

                "I remember being fresh meat," Bard sighed as he reminisced. "Got beat up all the time, it really blew. But then again, I did a lot of ass kicking when I was a senior, too."

                "I never got beat up as a freshman," I shrugged, and my friend snorted.

                "That's because you had all the jocks licking your ass the entire time you were in high school. Handsome, sporty, the star of the school from ninth grade until twelfth, all the girls wanted you inside them, yet only one girl managed to make that wish come true."

                I frowned at the comment, propping my elbow up on my armrest and laying my head in my palm. "Those were the good days, eh?"

                "Good for you, better for me," Bard scoffed, and he walked over to my desk and collected the box in his hands. "High school sucked, this job sucks. You're lucky you have Ciel, he's a reason for you to keep carrying on."

                "Hey, you have a reason to carry on, too," I stated, wagging a finger at him. "Who else would bring me doughnuts every morning?"

                My friend rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. "Have a good day, Sebastian."

                I watched him walk away with a solemn expression, and I could hear his voice echo throughout other cubicles as he offered the rest of our coworkers breakfast pastries. My heart went out to my long-term buddy, for I had known him since we were young boys, and I could tell that he wasn't doing so hot. His blond hair seemed to be shaggier than normal, and the scruffy shadow on his face and his sunken eyes made him appear as if he hadn't slept for days. Bardroy was a tall lad, but he looked shorter as of late because his typical straight posture was now hunched over and crooked. To put it simply, he was a mess.

                Like Bard, I had stayed with my high school sweetheart for quite a while after school ended, but our relationship eventually crumbled. His did not, however, and he and his girlfriend, Mey, had been together for over ten years. Their bond was slowly starting to wear down, though, and it was clearly taking its toll on my closest friend.

                A million thoughts swam through my head at once as I turned my attention back to my computer, my fingers absent-mindedly typing while my stony eyes stared at the screen. I knew what Bard was going through right now; the pain was still fresh in my mind even though it had been over fourteen years. I would never forget the shock, the betrayal, the late night fights and the miserable screams in anguish. I could clearly remember the sound of shattering plates and snapping picture frames, the loud _crash_ as a lamp hit the floor, the light bulb disintegrating and scattering into dozens of pieces.

                No, I wouldn't ever be able to wash those memories away, no matter how hard I tried. It was amazing how the head cheerleader and the quarterback, the famous homecoming king and queen, the perfect couple who were expected to last forever, ended up so twisted and fragmented.

                I stopped typing and covered my face with my hands, exhaling in an exasperated manner. _Maybe I am going through a midlife crisis._ Lately I hadn't been able to get my mind off of the good old days, times when my only concerns were throwing a perfect spiral at the big game. Nowadays, I have to worry about food, clothing, bills, and trying to support Ciel's hobbies as best as I can.

                "That reminds me, I need to pay Ciel's violin instructor," I murmured to myself, my eyes darting up to look at the clock.

                _Only a few more hours. Then I can leave this horrible place._

 

* * *

 

                Striding up to the house, my suit jacket dangling from left arm, I couldn't help but feel irritated and exhausted at the same time. It was hell trying to sort all of the crazy antics that took place in my mind each day, and it was even worse having to try to manage my thoughts while dealing with other people's problems. When I reached the door, I promptly slid my key into the keyhole, only to feel more frustration when the damn thing got stuck. I ended up having to jiggle the key for a few minutes before the door finally unlocked, and, cursing under my breath and making a quick mental note to get the lock inspected, I pushed open the dastardly door and headed inside.

                I was greeted by the sight of my son playing his violin, his fingers quickly moving across the instrument's neck while his other hand slid his bow fluidly. As soon as he noticed my entry, he abruptly stopped practicing and bounced over to me with a huge beam on his face.

                "Welcome home, Daddy."

                I smiled softly at him, raising a hand to ruffle up his smooth locks. "Hey, Ciel." After the quick greeting, I trudged through the living room and into the kitchen, making sure to throw my suit jacket onto the couch as I stride past. "Your tone is starting to sound a lot better."

                Upon hearing the compliment, Ciel's grin seemed to grow wider, and he traipsed after me, his violin still in hand. "Thanks! I've been practicing harder than ever. I'm hoping to impress Madame."

                "I think she'll be very impressed," I assured, trudging over to the counter and picking up the mail. I flipped through the envelopes quickly, my eyes skimming over them all. I could feel my eyebrows twitch in slight concern when I realised that the majority of them were bills, but, deciding that it'd be best to not push my worries onto my son, I continued with our casual conversation. "How was school?"

                Out of my peripheral vision, I could see him look down at the ground, his fingers plucking his violin strings in a fidgety fashion while he rocked back on his heels. "Uhm, it was okay." Before I could ask any further questions, he hastily changed the subject. "Did you have a good day at work?"

                I raised an eyebrow, the sudden switch of topics spiking slight suspicion in me. In the end, though, I chose not to comment; Ciel never liked to talk about school anyway.  "It was okay." _Other than the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about the way your mother betrayed me and crushed my world into a pathetic piece of rubbish._ I yawned and stretched my arms to the sky, rubbing one of my shoulders in fatigue. "What sounds good for dinner?"

                "Mm," Ciel hummed, tilting his head as he mulled over the question. He was silent for several moments, before he plopped down into a chair and began fiddling with tuning his violin, monotonely saying "fries."

                "Fries?" I repeated, chuckling and shaking my head. It wasn't a surprise. Ciel liked anything that would rot his body from the inside out, and though I tried and tried to convince him to eat his vegetables, he would only settle for the most fattening, artery-clogging, cavity-inducing junk food. But, hey, at least he eats something, right? Though, I was going to try to persuade him to eat something a little more filling, even if I withered away from age before he gave in. "You may be skinny, but that doesn't mean you're healthy. I wouldn't be surprised if your cholesterol is through the roof."

                _Speaking of cholesterol, I should probably make a check-up appointment with Ciel's doctor to make sure he isn't dying from all of the fatty food he eats,_ I thought as I treaded over to the refrigerator, opening the door and scanning its contents. I frowned when I noticed how empty it was getting, and I had to make another mental note to remember to go grocery shopping this weekend. I rummaged through most of the half-eaten food, and found that there was still some hamburger, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes left. "I could make tacos," I suggested, hoping he would take to the idea. He had to eat his vegetables somehow, even if they were sprinkled over some greasy meat.

                Ciel jutted his bottom lip out in a juvenile pout. "But Daddy, fries are my favorite." He kicked at the floor for a few minutes before he sighed in defeat and grudgingly gave in. "I guess tacos are good, as long as we have avocados." Sticking his lip out a bit more, he muttered to himself "I'd still prefer fries."

                I bit the inside of my lip as I gathered all of the ingredients in my arms and gently nudged the fridge door shut with my foot. "I'll make you fries too, all right?" I said, hoping that when dinnertime came around, it would suffice for the lack of avocados, and he'd suck it up and eat the tacos anyway.

                He immediately perked up and smiled brightly, setting his violin down on the table before he flew out of his seat and threw his arms around me in a tight hug. "Thanks, Daddy! You're the best. I love you."

                I stumbled from the impact, the food threatening to fall out of my hands unless I regained balance. _We'll see if you still think that after you find out there's no more avocados._ "I, uh, love you too, Ciel," I stuttered while I focused on keeping a careful grip on the groceries. "You can go practice while I'm making dinner."

                "Okay," he agreed, releasing me and prancing back off to the living room, giving me one last look while he picked up his violin before he left to play.

                When it was finally time to sit down and eat, Ciel unfortunately was a little more stubborn than I had hoped. He only ate one half of a taco, yet he consumed all the fries. I asked him multiple times to eat more tacos, but to no avail, so I eventually gave up and allowed him to eat what he wanted. I also attempted to make several light conversations, but he was particularly quiet, especially when I prodded about school. After we finished dinner, Ciel sat down to watch TV while I cleaned the dishes, and the last time I checked before I went to my room, he was still downstairs in the living room watching TV.

                Plopping down on my bed with an exhausted sigh, I opened up the top drawer on my nightstand and pulled out a lighter and an already rolled joint, placing it between my lips and lighting the opposite end. Even though I was smart and sporty in school, I wasn't the most perfect kid, and I still had my marijuana habit from when I was a teen. I didn't smoke it so I could ravage an entire buffet, nor did I inhale it to get higher than the ozone layer, but I did enjoy the relaxing effects it had on my body, and the way it made me more sensitive to touch was a plus, too, especially when my sex-deprived self decided to crank one out.

                I leisurely began to lie down until my back was firmly pressed against my mattress, the joint still hanging from my mouth as I continued to inhale and then exhale the remainder through my nose. This little "ritual" of mine had been a routine for years, and it was a normal way to end a normal day.

                And then everything changed.


	2. Conniving Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took me two nights to write this. I hope it's good. I am extremely excited about this story and where it's going to go. Me and Kit have been fleshing it out for a while now, and we could not resist the temptation to post it. We have high hopes for this story, and it might even be one of our best. If this is anything to go on, writing together was the best decision I could have ever made. Kit inspires me, motivates me, and altogether makes me a better writer (perhaps because I want to impress and enthrall her).  
> ANYWAY, MY LITTLE DOVES AND SWEET KITTENS. I hope you enjoy this chapter~ I worked really fucking hard on it to shove as much detailing into it as I could, although I might have gotten a little lazy. Hopefully it isn't lacking. Enjoy~

Every weekday morning began exactly as it had for the past three years. At six in the morning, the annoying cacophony of a buzzing alarm clock would fill the room, reverberating off of the walls. The silent tenebrosity of night would slowly begin fading, the slivers between each blade of the shutters allowing a gentle light to filter in, swallowing up aphotic shadows. Songbirds twittered, chirping a cheerful tune from within the plush verdigris foliage resting just outside of the old two-story house. The room itself was spotless; the carpeting was freshly shampooed and vacuumed, the floor completely bare of stray articles of clothing. Everything was properly organized, a suitable space for each item the room held. A wooden desk sat pushed up against the wall, located exactly next to the singular window, complete with a black leather computer chair neatly tucked beneath it. Upon the surface sat a diminutive lamp, an ancient yet reliable desktop computer, and an individual sterling silver picture frame. A photograph of a smirking man with raven tresses, geranium eyes, and a pale angular face stared out, lovingly cradled within its confines. A board of wood, nailed to the wall two feet above the desk served as a bookshelf. Each tome was arranged alphabetically by color, author, and size, in exactly that order; a normal person would not have been able to decipher the correlation in which they were placed. The wall parallel to the desk contained the entryway, a large, masterfully crafted oak door with ornate, although tarnished, metal doorknobs. The portal was currently locked, the brass key sitting comfortably within its designated hole. Adjacent to the door, a small vintage dresser was placed exactly four feet from the closet door, which was pulled shut, a black backpack hanging from its handle. Directly in front of that, pushed up and centered against the opposite wall, the full size mattress was raised above the ground on a dark oak frame. The head and footboard were elegantly carved with characters from children's nursery stories and thorny vines, roses blooming sporadically along them. A foot away from the bed was a petite night table, made from the exact same wood as everything else in the room. Atop it was the alarm clock, angry cerise numbers flashing the time as the buzzing pulsated from within its miniscule speakers.

My internal clock roused me from sleep before my alarm signified the time, as it did each morning. I lifted my dainty hand from beneath the mink comforter, directing it to the 'off' button on the side of the clock. As soon as my slender digit pressed into it, the infernal buzz ceased, and the numbers discontinued blinking, settling on displaying the time in a normal manner. Sitting up, I allowed my glacial sapphire eyes to scan my bedroom once more, establishing that each of my belongings was in its proper place. Satisfied, I let my lips quirk into a sardonic smile. A systemized living space meant an organized and peaceful mind. My orbs fell upon the shelf once more, my mouth twisting into a displeased frown. I suppose that I was beginning to amass a few too many books, as the wood was starting to buckle and bow beneath the weight of them. I would have to somehow reinforce the plank; such a disappointment that was. I had assumed that the board that I had meticulously selected was of proper sturdiness and thickness, a careless mistake on my part. A tiny hole just beneath it caught my eye, causing my memory to recall that when we had first purchased the wooden fixture, my father had accidentally placed it unevenly upon the ivory wall. I had had to fix it myself whilst he was at work, for the slight diagonal placing of it began to grate on my nerves. I refused to inform him of his mindless blunder, for I had found it entirely too endearing. Though the circular hole was a flaw in my perfect room, I could not bring myself to fill or fix it; it was a reminder of the person whom was most important to me.

Glancing at the time, which read 6:05, caused my slightly unhappy frown to develop into a full-fledged scowl. I had wasted 5 minutes of my precious time staring at my room. Now I would have to rush to complete my morning routine on schedule. Sliding off of my bed, I quickly yet carefully tucked the sheet underneath the mattress, readjusting the comforter until it lay completely smooth. Tiny hands fluffed down feather pillows, placing them precisely at the top of the bed. After that was complete, I walked over to my bedroom door on graceful legs, my feet barely indenting into the plush carpeting. With a swift twist of my wrist, the locking mechanism clicked, and I withdrew the key from its home. My hand found purchase on the knob of the door, turning and pulling it open. Once I had exited the room, I locked the door once more, and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, key in hand. With the portal shut firmly behind me, I stripped out of my sleepwear, turning the faucet to the hottest temperature that my skin could bear. While I let the water run and heat up, I approached the sink, washing my hands, careful to get beneath my nails. A pea-sized glob of toothpaste was placed upon the bristled of my dampened toothbrush, which was then brought to my mouth. I proceeded to vigorously brush my pearly whites and tongue, making sure to remove every speck of bacteria from my mouth. After I deemed the moist orifice properly cleansed, I placed my toothbrush back into the holder and entered the shower, pulling the curtain shut.

My face was the first to be thoroughly scrubbed, leaving my flawless visage reddened. Lathering a quarter-sized amount of shampoo between my hands, I ran my fingers through my blae locks, rubbing the soap into my scalp. I rinsed the suds from my wet hair before washing once more. Next came conditioner, which I let sit in my hair for precisely five minutes as I viciously cleansed every inch and crevice of my person. Stepping back under the stream of steaming water, I let the liquid wash away the residue of the body wash and conditioner. Satisfied with my cleanliness, I turned the faucet off, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a plush white towel around myself. Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, I selected a coconut oil-based lotion, a hair dryer, and a vanilla scented moisturizer and toner. In the drawer farthest to the right, which was for my belongings, lay a wet brush, an argan oil hair treatment, and a variety of other products.

Wiping the condensed steam from the reflective surface of the mirror, I began the third step of my routine by toning and then moisturizing my face. I lotioned my body with a generous helping of the coconut oil lotion, removed the excess moisture from my tresses before running the wet brush through it, and proceeded to blow it dry. Afterwards, I applied a small amount of the argan oil to my hands, rubbing them together before running them through my blae locks, giving my kitten soft hair an overall healthy shine. I daren't use too much product, as it would look greasy and make me feel like I needed another shower. Satisfaction filled me as I checked the time; I had finished my second and third steps in record time. It seemed as though I would maintain my carefully constructed schedule. Gathering up my dirty clothing, as well as the soaked towel, I exited the bathroom, key once again gripped in hand. I stopped at the laundry shoot, pulling the small metal door open and tossing the sullied fabrics down the hole, which led to the basement, and subsequently, the washer and dryer. I had no qualms about walking through the hall in the nude, as my father always started his day at 5 in the morning and was gone from the house by 6.

I made my way back to my bedroom, unlocking and opening the door before walking inside. Not bothering to shut the door when I would only be exiting once more, I glided over to my closet, pulling it ajar and glancing inside. It was not a very sizable space, although it held my articles of clothing just fine. My shoes were all lined neatly in rows, separated by type and color, with my dress shoes located against the back wall of the closet. I selected a pristinely white button up shirt, a coal vest, and a large ebony scarf that was made of a thin, breathable fabric. I took a few steps over to the oak dresser, pulling open the top drawer, which contained my undergarments; I took out a pair of black briefs. The second drawer down had a collection of white, black, and navy socks, from which I picked up a pair of white ankle socks. The bottom two drawers contained an array of jeans, and I took my time selecting the perfect pair. I was debating upon a pair of straight leg dark blue jeans and the acid washed skinny jeans, though I quickly settled on the latter. After my attire had been properly selected, I carried everything over to my bed and laid it all out on the mattress. I dressed myself, taking care to not wrinkle my clothing; I detested wrinkles, and would often iron all of my father's clothes to perfection, since the man could not seem to keep anything wrinkle-free and clean.

Wrapping the scarf around my neck twice, leaving the ends uneven, though it bothered me immensely, I recalled that I had yet to pick out a pair of shoes for the day. I padded back over to my closet, grabbing my black converse. What could I say? I liked for everything that I wore to match, or at least correlate in some way. Honestly, I would have preferred not to wear such hipster attire, but I could not. It was currently very popular at my school, and I wanted to blend in. I put my shoes on, tying them tightly and tucking the laces in, before grabbing hold of my backpack and finally leaving my room. After I heard the locking mechanism click, I withdrew the key and slid it onto a chain, which I placed around my neck, letting the cold metal rest against my chest beneath the white cotton of my shirt. My feet led me back into the bathroom, which contained a full length mirror, and allowed me to make sure that my appearance was flawless. I began studying every minor detail of my visage. Not a single hair on my head was out of place, everything was smooth, silky, and shiny; my heart-shaped face was lacking in any sort of blemishes or scars, and my large sapphire eyes stood out starkly against my pale skin, outlined in long, thick coal lashes. My gaze slid a little further down, passing my pouty pink lips, scanning over the unevenly wrapped scarf that covers my slender neck. I take in the untucked white dress shirt, the black vest resting atop it, the silver buttons not resting in their corresponding holes, but laying open. My tight acid washed jeans rode low on my hips, clinging tightly and fitting my short legs, showing off their shape. Overall, I thought I looked quite good, and that I would fit in with my peers.

I did not eat breakfast, as was normal for me. Instead, I left the house, making sure to lock the front door with my spare key. I was out by the bus stop by 7:35, which was when the public transportation should have been arriving, although I could not make the bus driver follow a strict time schedule. He seemed to be increasingly late as the school year dragged on; it was honestly one of the most annoying nuisances in my life, as it constricted my schedule and made me have to rush to my first class of the day. I did not like receiving tardies. The bus pulled up 3 minutes late, the doors swinging open to let myself and the few other poor saps that could not get rides from their parents on. My bag hung loosely on my shoulder as I walked up the three steps and filed down the aisle, my eyes spotting a thankfully empty seat. I claimed it as my own, placing my bag next to me as a ward to any who dared try to sit with me. I absolutely detested public transportation; it was a filthy, germ-ridden metal death machine on wheels. Who knows when it had last been cleaned, or even if -- and I shuddered to even think this -- it had ever been cleaned? I could not wait to get off of this dreaded contraption; I despised the fact that I had to ride one every day. I made a mental note to befriend a student that possessed a car, so that I could ride to and from school with them.

It only took around ten minutes for the bus to make it to the school, setting us free from inside only to further imprison us in the large high school. It was time to resign myself to another tedious day.

 

* * *

 

 

The first part of my day seemed to drag on; being forced to sit through classes, with "teachers" barely familiar with the subjects in which they were supposed to instill in us, was becoming absolute agony. I was willing to bet that I would have been a better instructor in all subjects. I was thankful when first lunch rolled around, the bell ringing sharply and signifying that those of us with first lunch were finally free for 45 minutes. I made my way to my locker at an easy pace, planning on switching out my maths textbook for my English 3 supplies, which included _The Scarlet Letter_ , a 5 subject notebook, and a single ballpoint pen. I had already finished reading the book, so I found it highly annoying that we had to read aloud during class. Shutting my locker, I turned towards the front of the building and moved with the crowd towards the cafeteria. I had almost reached the lunchroom, the delicious scent of all things fattening calling me forward, my mind already forming the plan to purchase three trays of tater tots, when I felt someone slam into my back. As I was shoved harshly forward, my class necessities flew out of my hands and landed heavily on the floor; I lost my balance and fell to my knees, my hands coming out to keep my face from hitting the ground.

"Watch where you're going, faggot," one of the gaping anuses with legs barked, laughing like a deranged hyena.

I looked up, my eyes falling upon the sickeningly pretty face of Maurice Cole. His lips were curled into a giddy snarl as his verdigris orbs looked down upon me like I was trash beneath his feet. "Just how I like my toys," he purred. "On their knees."

I considered retorting, ultimately deciding that a waste of space such as himself was not worth squandering my breath, time, and energy on. I simply let him think that he had won, as I did every day. Maurice Cole had been bullying me all of my life; perhaps it was because he saw me as a threat. The male had golden, wavy locks, a cherubic face, a slender body, and in the eyes of someone else, I suppose he could be considered beautiful. I knew for a fact that the waif of a boy was fucking the entirety of the football team; it was why Maurice was constantly surrounded by the brainless oafs. If the blond tart thought that I would ever let one of those steroid-pumped sub-humans touch my person, he was sorely mistaken. I only desired the touch of one person, and one alone.

Just as I started to get to my feet and dust myself off, the whore once again knocked me over. This time I fell flat on my back, the wind getting knocked out of me. Maurice placed his booted foot upon my chest, holding me down. I could feel rage begin to coil in my stomach, my blood burning with the seething emotion. This impudent fuck had not only dirtied my outfit by knocking me onto the filthy floor _twice_ , but he had the gall to put his putrid shoe on me. If I did not possess any semblance of control, I would have snapped his bony fucking ankle. However, because this cum-guzzling, twat-sucking, ass-munching Thundercunt had not pushed me past my breaking point, I remained in control of myself. If I had not known the depths of my self-control, I would have been amazed.

"Who said you could get up?" Maurice questioned in his grating soprano. "Did you ask your master for permission?" This brought another round of thundering laughter from his pack of collared dogs.

I could no longer hold my tongue; I was beginning to grow tired of this blond's stupidity. I already had to deal with one bipolar blond bitch, I did not need two.  "Perhaps the amount of dicks being sucked into your black hole of an asshole has left your mind addled. Or have you suffered from full blown retardation in recent years? No one tells me what to do.

"You are not my master; you are no one's master. You are merely a hole to be fucked when the jocks become tired of using their hands." Pausing, I took in the deliciously mortified look on Maurice Cole's face; it had become as twisted and hideous as he was on the inside. Turning my attention to the football players behind him, I quirked a brow, a haughty smirk curling my lips. "If you don't learn how to keep your fuck toy on a leash and teach him to keep his fucking mouth shut, I will not hesitate to air the video I have of each of you taking turns on him during the morning announcements. Do we have an understanding?"

The jocks, seething with hate yet not being able to do anything to me for fear that I would hold up my promise, took several steps away. One brave one took hold of Maurice's shoulder, whose cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and tried to pull him away. Annoyingly, he would not budge.

I sighed, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. "If you would please remove your STD-riddled appendage from my person..." I trailed off, my icy eyes meeting his rage-filled ones. Tension filled the air, but after a few moments, he slowly lifted his foot away.

"This isn't over," he muttered menacingly as he began to walk away. Funny how his words seemed like that of a petulant child as he ran with his tail tucked between his legs.

Sitting up, I glanced down at my shirt, frowning unhappily at the foot print left there; I would have to thoroughly sanitize this shirt when I got home. Actually, no, I could not, absolutely _not_ go through the rest of school in this filthy clothing. I got to my feet, collecting my scattered belongings, and headed straight back to my locker. I gathered everything I would need for my homework, tossed it into my backpack haphazardly, and stomped toward the main office. Before entering, I schooled my expression, making myself appear to be highly upset. It was times like this that I was thankful that I could cry at will. Starting up my water works, tears began rolling down my face, and I entered the office. The receptionist took one look at me and I could tell that I had her in my clutches.

"Oh, sweetheart, what happened?" She asked, concern oozing from her every pore.

"I-I..." I stutter, sniffling, before bursting into uncontrollable sobs.

"There, there," she cooed, coming around her desk and patting my shoulder. I resisted the urge to slap her hand away, instead crying inconsolably. "What can I do to help?"

Taking stuttering breaths, I calm myself enough to whimper. "T-take me home."

That was all the convincing she needed. This woman was weak-minded, and putty in my hands. A few tears and I could use anyone to my advantage. She immediately led me outside to her car, helping me into the passenger seat like I was disabled, and then drove me home after I gave her directions. Once home, I locked myself up inside the house, immediately ripping my backpack open and organizing everything. Perhaps it could have waited, but it had been bugging me too much to ignore. As I climbed the stairs, I began shedding every layer of my clothing, leaving only my boxers untouched. I launched them down the laundry shoot, tore my key off of my neck, and flung my bedroom door open. Grabbing a random pair of jeans and a normal black t-shirt, I redressed myself quickly. I had no time to waste. I sprinted down the stairs, turned into a hallway and walked straight to the basement door. I pushed it open and stomped down the rickety wooden stairs, making my way over to the pile of clothes. I tossed all of the whites into the washer, pouring in a diluted bleach so as not to ruin the fabric, and my preferred detergent. Starting the washer, I felt my body finally begin to loosen the coil of anxiety, and I relaxed.

I supposed that I could do my homework now, seeing as how I had quite a bit of time before my father returned home. After exiting the basement, I slowly trudged into the living room, sat on the soft couch, and pulled out my assignments from back bag. This should only take a half hour.

After finishing that, the beeping of the answering machine caught my attention. I hit the play button on the landline phone, the familiar voice of the secretary meeting my ears.

"Hello, Mr. Michaelis. This is Miss Durless, the receptionist at Central High School. Today I had to give your son a ride home; it seems that he is a victim of bullying, although he would not give me any information. If you could get him to talk about it, see if he'll open up to you about the student who is bullying him, we would be happy to take care of such matters. Please feel free to call back at any time." With a beep, the messaged ended.

I frowned, glaring at the phone as if it had personally insulted me. I deleted the message; there was a reason I never talked about my schooling with my father, and I sure as hell was not going to start talking about it now because of some nosy redhead.

 

* * *

 

 

Bow sliding over strings produced a pleasing sound, filling the living room with a lilting song. I had been meticulously practicing the violin for hours, pausing only to finish the laundry. If my fingertips were not already calloused from a year of playing, they would have probably been raw and bleeding. The sound of my father's car pulling into the drive announced his arrival home from work to me. I changed midsong to a piece I had yet to master and still struggled with; waiting for him to enter the house. I could see him from my periphery, standing in the entryway of the living room, watching me play. That pleased me immensely, so I drew it out for as long as I could. Finally, I paused in playing, looking over at him as though I had just noticed his presence.

"Welcome home, Daddy," I called to him, a bright and childish smile on my face. I pranced over to him, violin still in hand.

He brought a large hand down upon my head, ruffling up my perfect hair.  "Hey, Ciel," he said in greeting before heading into the kitchen. I never minded when he mussed my hair, even though imperfection was one of my pet peeves. I followed after him, inwardly cringing as he tossed his suit jacket atop the couch; it was sure to get wrinkles. "Your tone is starting to sound better."

I could feel the smile on my face growing into a full-fledged grin, his compliment warming my heart and pleasing me immensely. I could only feel genuine happiness when I was around my father. "Thanks! I've been practicing harder than ever. I'm hoping to impress Madame."

"I think she'll be very impressed," my father said reassuringly. It wasn't like I did not already know that; I was her favorite student, after all. He started looking through the day's mail, his lips contorting into a frown. I figured the majority of the envelopes contained bills, though he would never inform me of such things. He probably didn't want to worry me, which was endearing. "How was school?" He asked, still perusing the letters.

The one question I did not want to hear, he had to ask. It served only to bring back memories of Maurice Cole and his lackeys. Like hell I would mention that I was being bullied to my father. I avoided looking at him, instead fidgeting with my violin, suddenly very interested in its mechanisms. My fingers plucked at the strings as I rocked back on my heels, my head tilting slightly as I answered as emotionlessly as I could, something I normally avoided doing with my father. "Uhm, it was okay." As I glanced up at him, I could see questions forming in his brain, and avoiding giving him a chance to ask them, I quickly changed the subject. "Did you have a good day at work?"

He paused momentarily, as if trying to find holes in my question so that he could return to talking about me and that hellhole I was forced to go to every day. Instead, he thankfully decided to answer my inquiry. "It was okay." I could tell that he was thinking about something unpleasant by the way a slightly pained expression flashed across his face before it returned to normal. I rarely missed the minute expressions that people could not control that took over them for a fraction of a second; it was their true feelings about something, and most people thought that their masks didn't drop. I knew that everyone's masks had flaws, and I watched for them.

"What sounds good for dinner?" Father asked, drawing my thoughts away from the subject of emotions.

"Mm," I hummed, as if in thought. I already knew what I would like to eat. Today was 'Tater Tot Day' at school, and thanks to Maurice sullying my outfit, I missed out on the delicious form of potatoes. Not that my father needed to know all of that. I sat down in one of the dining chairs and tuned my violin. The sound was very slightly off and it was bugging me. "Fries," I said, voice monotonous, as if I expected there to be no argument.

"Fries?" he repeated. Did I stutter? You would think that he would know my eating habits by now. I knew the repercussions of eating mainly unhealthy food, what it would do to my body, and all of that, but I didn't care. It tasted amazing, and I was a very picky eater. I disliked most vegetables, fruits, and what have you. I had an insatiable love for all forms of potatoes, except for scalloped, cheese, and all the sweets. "You may be skinny, but that doesn't mean you're healthy. I wouldn't be surprised if your cholesterol is through the roof."

I watched as he went over to the fridge, searching through our miniscule amount of food. I could tell he was frustrated with the empty state our refrigerator was in, probably planning to grocery shopping soon.

"I could make tacos."

I almost made a noise of annoyance. I didn't want tacos; I wanted French fries, drenched in melted cheese and thoroughly salted. I let my bottom lip tremble and stick out in a small pout, a whiny sigh leaving my mouth. "But Daddy, fries are my favorite," I whimpered, wanting it to pull on his heartstrings and give me what I wanted. When he continued to retrieve the ingredients for tacos, I changed tactics. I kicked at the floor, looking down in defeat. "I guess tacos are good, as long as we have avocados." I had to fight off a smirk; avocados were the only vegetables that I liked, and as such, I had eaten the very last one earlier for lunch. There were no avocados left. I knew that as a consolation, I would get my fries. "I'd still prefer fries," I muttered to myself, watching my father bite his lips from under my lashes.

"I'll make you fries too, all right?" He promised, making a grin break out onto my face. It had turned out exactly how I wanted it to.

I set my violin down gently atop the table before flinging myself at my father, who was still juggling the taco ingredients. "Thanks Daddy! You're the best. I love you," I said in my most innocent tone.

He stumbled from the impact of my weight, almost dropping the foodstuffs. "I, uh, love you too, Ciel." He was distracted by trying to keep his hold on everything; otherwise it would have sounded more meaningful, I was sure. "You can go practice while I'm making dinner."

"Okay," I agreed, releasing my hold on him and picking my violin up, skipping back off into towards the living room. I paused though, before I left the kitchen, and gave him a lingering look. I found that lately my eyes were drawn to him more and more often. If I wasn't careful, I would be caught staring one too many times. To avoid such a thing, I tore my eyes away and exited the room, leaving him to cook.

Bow caressed strings as I picked up where I had left off, letting my eyes slide shut and losing myself in practicing. I found that very few acts would bring my trains of thought down to a minimum, quieting them, and playing the violin was one of them. It was entirely too relaxing, and I relished in it. Time seemed to fly by, and soon the house was filled with the aroma of cooked meat and fries. Too soon, my father called me back into the kitchen to eat. Sighing, I put my violin away in its case, and then made my way to the dining table. I served myself a taco, although I wasn't planning on eating it. I loaded my plate with still steaming fries, liberally covering them in cheese and salt. I ate every last one in silence, my eyes rolling back at the sheer orgasmic deliciousness of the greasy treat. Throughout the meal, my father pestered me, very persistent that I eat at least one taco. Trying to appease him, I ate half of it, although the texture disgusted me. If I was going to eat tacos, I preferred Taco Bell.

I remained stubbornly silent the whole time we ate, my father asking me questions about school, prying and trying to get me to communicate. If he had wanted to engage me in conversation, he was going about it the wrong way. I kept my lips tightly sealed, almost as if I had gone temporarily deaf. Eventually, he gave up, and finished his meal. I rose from the table, heading back into the living room and turning on the television to some random cartoon which I paid no attention to. I listened to the sound of my father doing dishes, my skin itching as I shifted my weight several times. When he finished, he retired to his room and his bad habits, and I couldn't contain myself any longer. I simply couldn't wait until he had fallen asleep; today's incident with Maurice had left me feeling the need to clean. I headed back into the kitchen, taking each dish out of the drying rack and washing them thoroughly myself. It wasn't that I thought my father was incompetent, he just could not clean them in a way that satisfied me. It was the same with everything that had to be cleaned. I had to do it myself, or I would go mad, surrounded in germs and filth. To avoid any conflict, I would always allow my father to do it first, and then secretly do it myself afterwards.

After I was satisfied with the cleanliness of the dishes, I turned off all of the electronics downstairs, and traipsed up the staircase. I had finished all of the laundry earlier, which left me feeling quite accomplished. Tomorrow I would deep clean the entire house; I hadn't done it today, and the buildup of dust and microorganisms were going to make my skin itch if I didn't do something about it soon. Instead, I went straight to the bathroom, hopping into the shower and scalding my skin to wash off all traces of Maurice. After I finished scrubbing a layer of my skin off, making it an angry red color, I turned the shower off and cleared the mirror of condensation. I stared at my reflection, my sapphire eyes dark as a storming sky. I hated that Maurice had touched me; only my father would ever be allowed to do such a thing.

The one person in this world that I would ever want, whose touch I desired to heat my frigid flesh; the one I wanted to taste, to have in me and around me; who I wanted to be consumed in a burning flame by... was my father. I was irrevocably attracted to the man who had brought me life, and while that should disgust me... it only excited me. The taboo of it made me covet it that much more. I would do any and every single thing in my power to make him mine.

Because I know that he wants me, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do y'all think? Do you love it? Do you hate it? What do you think of the characters? Do you have any suspicions? What do you think is going to happen? What can I do to improve? I would like your feedback. Although not receiving comments will never stop me from posting, getting them only motivates me to pump out chapters as fast as I can. And honestly, when I don't get comments, it makes me question whether or not I am good at writing. I know I'm a wonderful writer (as Kit never lets me forget), but I do get insecure. I am not always confident in my abilities. THAT'S WHERE Y'ALL COME IN. You can drop a comment, even if it's one word, even if it's criticism, it matters not. I want to improve, I want to smile and be happy when I read a comment, and most importantly, I want to respond. I want to talk to my readers, because YOU are what makes the stories I write possible. I want to connect with each and every one of you. You are ALL important, you all mean the world to me.  
> Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy


	3. Sentimental Sebastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! After days of working on this, I finally got it posted. So, hurray! Quick shoutout to IcyTwilight and PumpkinFabliaux for leaving the most gorgeous comments I've ever read. As thanks, I will give you good noodle stars. Thank you for being such good noodles!  
> Enjoy! ^-^

Little strips of sunlight shone through my blinds, the rays tickling my face and trying to crawl underneath my sleepy eyelids. I let out a groan, thrashing my head to the side wildly in attempt to shake the light away. My tight muscles aching, I stretched my arms above my head, my bony knuckles slamming into my wooden headboard when I extended them. “Ow,” I murmured, the slight pain sending a tiny jolt through my system that served to shock my body into nearly full consciousness. It didn’t matter what size of bed I purchased; my limbs were still too damned long. I hadn’t a clue why I even left the headboard there, for the only purpose it fulfilled was causing me pain in the mornings.

 Rolling over to my right side, my tired eyes fluttered open and regarded my nightstand, studying the clock that rested on its surface. Steady, red numbers glowed at me, precisely reading 10:04 AM. I let out a yawn, stretching my arms again – more carefully, this time – and I slowly began to rise into a sitting position. I loved the weekends, simply because I was allowed to sleep in as long as I wanted, and I didn’t have to worry about dealing with the idiotic callers at work. No, I wouldn’t even _think_ about work today; it was bad enough that the dangerous increase in bills forced me to put in overtime yesterday. I worked so hard, and for so long that I didn't return home until eleven last night, and even Ciel was in bed by then. I was hoping he'd stay up and wait for me to come home like he usually did when I arrived late, but I figured that he was used to being asleep before eleven on school nights, so his sleeping schedule was probably set in stone by now.

 When I finally managed to force my lazy self out of bed, I treaded over to the window, my hand tugging on the strings of my blinds, sending the shades flying up and revealing the entirety of the gorgeous Saturday sun. The sky seemed to be a deep, beautiful blue, with hardly a trace of a cloud. Looking down toward the sidewalk, I noticed that little kids were already awake and playing, two young siblings giggling cheerfully as they both circled around the neighborhood on their bicycles. A small smile carved itself into my lips at the endearing sight; I couldn’t lie, I was always a sucker for kids. Sometimes, I even wished that Ciel was a young boy again, just so I could relive each milestone in his life. Nothing could make me forget the joy I felt when he mastered tying his shoes, the pride that gleamed within me when he finally managed to take off on his bike without me there to hold onto the seat, and the glee that lit in me like a dancing flame when he confidently played his violin for the first time. All of the memories made me feel extremely old and a bit sad; it made my heart ache to know that soon, my little boy would be all grown up, and making these very same memories with his own kids.

  _No, no, stop thinking about this,_ I ordered myself, my slender legs leisurely floating through my room as I gathered my clothing for the day. _It’s too early for waterworks._

 I carelessly plucked a random t-shirt and pair of jeans from my drawers, along with some boxers and socks. I then made my way to the bathroom, clothes in hand, and placed the garments on the countertop while I proceeded to strip myself of my nightwear; which, in my case, only consisted of underwear. I strode back into the hallway briefly, throwing the boxers down the laundry chute before I hopped into the shower. I took my time while washing, letting the warm droplets of water crawl down my back and slide down the contours of my body. Soap suds soon joined the descending water as I cleansed my body and hair, thankful that I didn’t have to rush through my morning routine like usual.

 Once I was out of the shower, I patted myself dry and dressed in my outfit of the day: a simple, plain red shirt and a pair of light blue jeans. I was positive that I had owned the pants for at least six years, and the age certainly showed on them through the various rips and tears on the legs. I didn’t mind, though. The gaps weren’t large nor were they in awkward places; besides, they made me feel comfortable, and that’s all that really mattered.

 I focused on brushing my teeth next. Squeezing a line of toothpaste onto the bristles, I promptly shoved the brush in my mouth and began scrubbing. If there was an activity I hated more than anything, it would be brushing my teeth. I found it tedious, and I absolutely detested the taste of toothpaste, so every day I rushed through the disgusting process as quickly as I could manage. This time, though, I froze while I was in the middle of brushing, my eyes regarding my figure in the mirror in distaste. Out of the corner of my eye, I had sensed an odd movement on my facial features, and, sure enough, when I studied my complexion, I could clearly see wrinkles beginning to form below my eyes and above my upper lip.

 “God damn it,” I growled, my words slurring from the white foam that was seeping from my mouth. I let my toothbrush dangle freely while my two hands rose to my face, my digits pulling at the creased skin. The skin would stretch into a tight, youthful appearance, but as soon as my fingers let go, it would return to its slightly indented formation. “Damn it! I’m too young for this!”

 The discovery soured my mood, so I sped through the rest of my routine, combing my messy locks out in just a few swipes and unbelievably shaving my face at a quick rate without acquiring any nicks or cuts. As soon as I exited the bathroom, I approached my son’s door, noticing that, like always, it was shut tight. This never bothered me, for I knew Ciel was a growing boy, a boy who was now in high school and was surely experiencing what all teenage boys have to go through: the hell of having hormones. It wasn’t surprising that he wanted his privacy, and I respected that completely. I never had any issues with him doing drugs, – not like I’m one to talk – nor did he ever sneak in booze or girls without my knowledge; in fact, Ciel never brought anyone home at all. We were quite the opposite, he and I. I have always been a very open and outgoing person, but Ciel seems to prefer to keep to himself, and he tends to get very shy around strangers. Even so, he was a normal teenager, and I could understand why he wouldn’t want me snooping through his belongings. I never wanted my parents to find my porn underneath my bed as a kid, so I certainly wouldn’t put him through the humiliation of realising that I discovered his.

 “Ciel?” I called quietly, knocking on the door as softly as I could. “Are you awake? I need to run to the grocery store real quick, you can come if you want.”

 I waited a while, even pressed my ear to the door in case he mumbled. After a few minutes, however, I received no response, and I couldn’t hear any scuttling inside, so I assumed he was still asleep. That was only natural. At his age, I was sleeping until noon, and pissing my mother off each day I did so.

 I padded down the stairs, stopping by the kitchen to grab my keys off of the counter and to retrieve a notepad. I hastily scribbled on the piece of paper, my handwriting a bit messy due to my hurried behavior.

_Ciel_

_Went to go buy groceries. I’ll be playing basketball with Bard afterwards and I won’t be home until later this afternoon. Food should be in the fridge, call if you need anything._

_Love Dad_

 I left the note sitting on the counter, exiting the house and being sure to lock it before I strode toward my car. I climbed into my vehicle, sighing in slight annoyance when the warm environment wrapped itself around me. The weather sure had been getting hotter lately, and that only meant that the temperature in cars would be boiling. It was this time of year when you’d see the typical mindless morons leaving their dogs locked inside their vehicles, practically left for dead in the scalding heat, and I could guarantee that I would see at least one of those circumstances at the grocery store today.

 Boy, I couldn’t have been more right. As soon as I appropriately positioned my car into a parking space, the sounds of a crying dog met my ears, and I turned my head to the right, observing a tiny poodle that was in a green sedan next to me, his front paws resting on the leather sill as he stared directly into my eyes. He barked relentlessly, and I scowled at the sight, a vein nearly bulging in my forehead when I observed that, of course, all four windows were rolled up completely. His whines sounded desperate, a slight rasp echoing with each yelp he gave off. Sliding out of my seat and slamming my door shut, I walked over toward the poor thing, his body shaking, most likely in relief, when I came closer. What a sickening display. If I knew that the security cameras in the parking lot weren’t recording my every move right now, I would take the tire iron out of my trunk and bust the window in myself, anything to give the innocent animal some fucking air.

 “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes looking into his through the glass barrier. “I’ll get you out of there.”

 He barked maniacally, as if trying to persuade me to break into the vehicle at that very moment. I couldn’t, though. No matter how much he wanted me to, I couldn’t vandalize another person’s car. I walked away from the scene, his cries screeching louder while he watched me leave, his dark eyes glaring at me in an expression I could only describe as hurt from being betrayed.

  _It’ll be okay, little guy. I will make sure that you’re rescued, just in a more civil matter._

 I retrieved a shopping cart, and casually pushed the basket around while my eyes scanned over the aisles. I wouldn’t let my thoughts focus on the negativity out in the parking lot; for now, my main priority was gathering food for my family. I instinctively went over to the produce section, my features relaxing in a tranquil state at the sight of the various vegetables. I couldn’t have been happier to have them so close within reach, since the emptiness of our fridge forced Ciel and I to eat pizza for the rest of the week, and by now, I started to get sick just thinking of it. I grabbed a few heads of lettuce, hoping that I could convince my typically stubborn son to eat a small salad sometime during the next week; a fruitless endeavor, I was sure, but it was worth trying. I also picked up tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, celery, carrots, and I definitely had to buy a few bags of potatoes, considering Ciel practically lived on them. And no, that wasn’t an exaggeration. He could eat potatoes every single meal for the rest of his life, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. As easygoing as I tried to be, that was one thing that I wouldn’t permit him to do. Variety was the spice of life, and life certainly needed some extra spice to keep things interesting.

 I wandered around the store, picking up multiple ingredients for possible meal ideas in the future. So far, I had everything I needed in case I wanted to make a salad, spaghetti, or chile. These were all meals that I was particularly fond of, but Ciel, not so much. I wished that he had been able to tag along with me this morning; it would certainly make the shopping trip easier. Plus, I felt a little guilty about leaving him alone all day, especially since I hadn't been able to say a word to him since Thursday night.

Ten minutes later, I had a basket full of groceries and a wallet trembling with slight fear. Normally, I'd feel worried to spend a large chunk of cash on groceries, but after working my ass off and putting in extra hours last night, I simply gave no fucks.

Entering the checkout, I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed a chocolate bar for my last item. I was never a fan of the sugary treats, but I knew how much Ciel loved sweets, and I wanted to make up for my sudden and unexpected disappearance.

"I saw that," the cashier teased, her long nails resting against the counter while she waited for me to unload my things. "Cheating on your diet, hm?"

My vermillion eyes traveled up to politely regard her, and a breath caught in my throat when I glimpsed her appearance. She was a short girl, her height seeming so miniature that it could be considered cute. Her hair, which was composed of beautiful shades of different blondes, was tightly pulled into two high pigtails, the ends of her locks tickling her shoulder blades. She had gorgeous emerald eyes, but, unfortunately, my other head was thinking, and I found it hard to focus on her orbs when my pupils discovered her body. She wore a tight, formfitting v-neck, the hot pink fabric hugging her curves in all the right ways. Her breasts, which were certainly no smaller than double d's, pressed against the thin cotton of her shirt, causing her cleavage to be lifted over the edge of the top slightly.

"I," I began, my voice coming out shaky as I tried to speak. I forced myself to turn my attention on my groceries, and my fumbling fingers hurriedly began to move the food from the cart to the counter. "I guess I can't help it. One of my guilty pleasures."

"Guilty pleasures," she repeated, the words coming out as a giggle. "And I'll have you know, I saw _that_ too."

My movements slowed down, and I swallowed as my pupils floated back to her. "Saw what?"

"Your staring," she said bluntly, her dainty hands scanning my items. "You weren't necessarily secretive about it."

"Oh, I," I stuttered, completely taken aback by her straightforwardness. She was right, I didn't hide my oogling. But by the looks of her, I needed to be careful; you never knew when a girl could be underage these days. "I'm sorry, Miss. I wasn't trying to offend you, I just- you're really beautiful."

She clucked her tongue, a smile spreading across her lips. "Nice try. Just admit it, you like my tits."

"W-what?" I blurted out, the whites of my eyes nearly bulging out of my head from surprise.

"I'm sure you think I'm beautiful, but that's not why you were staring. You were gawking because you like my tits."

"Well," I shrugged, pulling my wallet out of my back pocket and scratching my head awkwardly. "I think it's a bit of both."

Amused giggles burst from her lips, a pale pink blush dusting the apples of her cheeks. "You're funny. I like you. You can call me Lizzie."

"Lizzie?"

"Duh," she snorted, her pink fingernail tapping against the plastic nametag that was clipped onto her shirt. "What else is short for Elizabeth?"

My stupidity came crashing down on me and filled me with humiliation; I hadn't even thought to look at her nametag. "I, well-"

She giggled again, scanning another product. "That's okay, I know you didn't read it, so I read it for you. My name's Elizabeth, but you can call me Lizzie."

"Sebastian," I stated, my lips curving upwards. "Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, Sebastian," she said sweetly, various beeps going off as she picked up the pace. "Such a prim and proper name for someone who's so dirty-minded."

"I could say the same for you."

"Me?" She asked playfully, her green eyes widening when she feigned innocence. "Why, I never think inappropriate thoughts."

We both chuckled together at the faux profession, and her lengthy nails tapped against the counter once she finished scanning and bagging everything.

"Your total is $137.32."

"Ooh, steep price," I mumbled, pulling out my credit card and handing it to her. "You're not _really_ going to make me pay that much, are you?"

"Careful," she warned, typing a few codes into the register before she swiped the card. "I have your credit card. I may just hold it for ransom."

I laughed quietly, picking up my newly bagged groceries and setting them into the cart as I played along. "And what would the ransom consist of?"

"A date."

"A date?" I repeated, my eyes once again growing in shock. She nodded childishly, another giggle escaping her lips.

"Yes, a date. Why? Is the idea of taking me out to dinner so horrible that you can't even consider it?"

"I- No! No, that's not it at all!" I blurted out, my sudden panic making her laugh even more. A blush washed over my face. I was embarrassing myself. "I mean, I'd love to go on a date with you, but you just look a little youn-"

"I'm not underage," she interrupted, reading my thoughts like a book. "I'm twenty-two. And before you tell me that I'm still too young, I like older men." She finished with a seductive wink, one powerful enough to send a spark straight to my groin.

"I would love to go on a date with you, then," I stated smoothly, the level of composure in my voice surprising me.

"Great!" She giggled, handing me my card back. She then tore off my receipt and scribbled on it before she gave that back to me, as well. "Here's my number. Don't stand me up, or I'll be forced to steal your credit card." Another wink.

"Don't worry," I assured with a grin as I studied the digits transcribed in blue ink. "I definitely won't stand you up."

Elizabeth gave me a genuine smile. "Have a good day, Sebastian."

"You too, Lizzie." I began to push the cart, and I nearly made it outside before something dawned on me. I dashed back inside the market, leaving my cart behind while I sprinted back to the counter. "Oh! Elizabeth, I need you to do a favor for me."

"Already?" She asked sarcastically, crossing her arms over her breasts and jutting her hip out sassily, though her giddy demeanor hadn't faded a bit. "You haven't even taken me out to dinner yet."

"I know, I know. But I promise I'll bring you extra flowers when I do. There's a green sedan out in the parking lot, three rows to the right and five lanes down from the entrance doors. A dog is locked inside with the windows rolled up, and in this heat, he won't last long. Do you think you can call your manager so he can do something about it?"

She stared at me for a moment, before she smirked and shook her head, her hand reaching for the phone beside the counter. "So you're an animal lover, huh?"

"I guess you could say that," I smiled sheepishly.

"Go on," She waved at me. "I got this handled."

"Thanks, Lizzie." I said sincerely, and I jogged away once again, grabbing my cart and pulling it behind me, strolling toward the exit that would lead me back to the parking lot. The automatic doors opened for me and air whooshed past as I started to exit.

"Sebastian!"

I froze, taking a few steps backward and leaning back into the grocery store, my eyes regarding Elizabeth. "Yeah?"

Lizzie smiled mischeviously. "I like daisies."

I grinned, but said nothing more, and continued to make my way outside. When I approached my car, the dog in the vehicle next to mine began whining again, the nails on his paws clacking while he scratched down the windows, desperate to escape his heated prison.

"I hope they'll find you a better home," I murmured as I unloaded my groceries into the backseat. "And I hope you'll never have to experience this again."

Driving out of the parking lot, I gazed into my rearview mirror and smiled when I saw Lizzie and an older man approach the car, the man looking around as he cradled a cell phone to his ear. It would be all right. The dog would be safe in the end.

I turned left, pulling out onto the highway. My hair swayed and danced from the breeze that flew into my open window, and I couldn't help but smirk like a moron when I let the situation at the store replay in my head. I hadn't went on a real date since I was a teenager, and I hadn't even looked at another woman since my son was born. Why had Elizabeth been different? I refused to think that her cleavage was the culprit for my feelings.

No, this wasn't just plain sexual excitement. This was pure happiness. The way she smiled at me, her cute laughter and her gorgeous, glowing green eyes captivated me in a way I hadn't thought would ever be possible again. She was endearing, playful, sour but in an intensely sweet way. The chemistry we had was clearly thick in the air; the hidden passion undeniable. 

"I sound like a sap from one of those soap operas," I muttered in irritation, but I couldn't help it. I knew that even though I was a simple man, with a strongly perverse mind and an easy to please nature, I did have a coil of sensitivity that nestled inside of me. The possibility that someone could come into my life, fill me with bliss and mend my heart that had yet to heal made the risk of dating completely worth it. After being alone all these years, I could certainly use some company, and my hand could use a break.

I was getting ahead of myself. I had just met this girl, knew nothing about her besides her name, and hell, she could've given me a phony number for all I had known. But I didn't want to believe that. There had only been one woman who managed to steal my heart, and after all these years, she still has it. Then, out of the blue, another girl comes along, and has somehow seemed to have captured a portion of my cardiovascular organ without it even being in its little niche inside my chest. It was lost, and had been lost for so many years, yet somehow, she found it.

Maybe life was finally working out in my favor. Maybe it wasn't too late for me to find my own piece of heaven, and turn my reality around in a better direction, a better future.

Maybe, just maybe, that little spark inside of me, which was so close to fizzling out, would reignite into a hot, burning flame. 

Maybe I would finally be happy.

 

* * *

 

The car came to a halt as I put it in park, and I pulled my keys out of the ignition. I threw my door open, hopping out and striding toward the house. I let myself whistle as I happily stepped along; it was going to be a fucking fabulous day.

"Afternoon, Mr. Michaelis!"

I stopped walking and turned around, a beam lighting up my face when I regarded the speaker behind me: a little boy on his tricycle. I crouched down to his level, my hand raising to my forehead as I shielded my eyes from the bright sun. "Well, hey there, Jimmy. How're you today?"

"I'm good," he said, his little lips curling into a smile. "My birthday is coming up soon!"

"Really? How old are you going to be this year?"

"I'm gonna be four years old!" He stated proudly, holding up four stubby fingers to prove it.

I chuckled at the cute remark; what I wouldn't give to rewind back to when Ciel was four. "Four years old? Wow! You're really getting up there."

"Don't tell Mom that; she's afraid I'm going to steal her car," he whispered, and I laughed again at his words. This kid was just too cute. "You guys are going to come to my birthday party, right?"

I smiled at him, patting his shoulder lightly. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, Jimmy."

"Kay," he confirmed happily, his little feet going around as he began to pedal away. "Make sure you bring Ciel! Have a good day, Mr. Michaelis!"

"You too, Jimmy!" I called to him, a permanent grin practically stretching across my entire face. Children had to be the greatest gift anyone could ask for.

My focus returning, I unlocked the front door to the house, leaving it wide open while I carried in bags of groceries. I made sure to pack the vegetables into the fridge immediately; wouldn't want good food to waste from the heat. In a bottom cupboard, I stored the three huge bags of potatoes that I had picked up for Ciel. No doubt in my mind, they wouldn't last a week. I also put away the few boxes of pasta I bought and the other less important ingredients that I happened to purchase, as well. 

Once I was done, I glanced around the kitchen. I wasn't used to the house being this quiet. Ciel hadn't been in the living room, and, taking a glimpse up the stairwell, it looked like his door was still closed. I brought my arm up, my eyes scanning the watch on my wrist. 12:02 PM. And Ciel was still asleep?

"It's definitely not like him to snooze this late," I discussed to myself, my hand digging inside the last grocery bag. "But he probably had a late night."

I pulled out the chocolate bar from the crinkled plastic, setting the sweet down on the counter next to my untouched note that I had left this morning. I hoped that the warm temperature didn't completely melt the treat inside the wrapper, but that would be Ciel's problem to deal with.

I sighed, leisurely trudging my way into the living room. "Hopefully that's a good enough apology for being so distant."

My eyes drifted across the room, flying past the couch that I had had in my possession for years, floating over the TV that hung on the wall in front of it, darting past the coffee table whose wood was chipped and stained from years of use. My pupils finally landed on a picture frame on the wall, feet acting upon their own and moving closer to it while I studied every little detail of the portrait that rested inside the glass. It was a picture of my son and I, taken in the front yard when he had first moved in with me. I was kneeling, one of my knees pressed into the soil of the earth while my other was used as an armrest for my right arm. My left arm was curled around Ciel in a loving fashion, my smile couldn't have been brighter as I held my little one close to me and posed for the camera. Ciel's juvenile grin made the picture pop with endearment, his tiny teeth flashing for the camera and his blue eyes gleaming with the joy that only small children experience. My fingers came up to the picture, fingers smudging against the glass as I was deep in reminiscing. It felt like it was only yesterday when I was filling the empty room upstairs with my son's personal belongings, when we raced down the stairs as quickly as possible, his little legs curled around my waist and his chest pressed against my back while I gave him a piggyback ride.

"I'm not ready for you to grow up, Ciel," I whispered to myself, my slightly watery eyes staring the boy down in the picture as if I was speaking to him. "I'm not ready to be all alone again."

I didn't care what anyone thought; I wasn't overreacting. This house used to be so empty, so cold, and then my little bundle of joy moved in and gave me hope, gave me something worth living for. Now, he was already a freshman in high school. He'd be finding new hobbies, going out with girls, driving cars. I didn't want to hold my son back. No, I _wouldn't_ hold my son back. I could clearly remember how choked up my mother would get when I started going out more in high school, and I would never understand. Now, I comprehended exactly what she was feeling and thinking. I wasn't going to stop Ciel for being himself. He needed to be a teenager, needed to blossom and flourish without his father being there every waking moment. I knew that. It would be good for him to prepare to live in the real world on his own, but god damn, if it wasn't a hard piece of reality to swallow.

I shook my head, wiping the tiny tear away that had gathered in the corner of my eye. I needed to go unwind.

 

* * *

 

"Hey! Watch it, asshole!"

"Sorry," I called back, though it wasn't apologetic in the slightest. "Maybe you should work on your footing." My arm extended upward fully, my hand curving as the ball gracefully left my fingertips and dove into the net.

"Or maybe you could stop being such a dick," Bard mumbled in annoyance, his hands swatting dirt off of his ass while he stood to his feet. "No wonder Ciel never wants to play with you."

"That's not why," I argued, catching the ball and twirling it around in my hands. My mind was tempted to wander back to thoughts of my miniature break down today, but I wouldn't allow it to. "He doesn't like sports."

"What teenage boy doesn't like sports?" He questioned, holding his hands up and gesturing for the ball. "You should have had him come with you today. I'm sure I could've convinced him to play."

"He's never been a fan of any physical activity. Besides, I haven't even seen him today. When I stopped by the house for a few minutes to drop the groceries off, he wasn't downstairs." I tossed the ball to him, my hands raking back my drenched hair, droplets of sweat gathering in my palms. I reached for my water bottle, and I guzzled the cold water as if it was a delicacy.

Bard dribbled the ball absent-mindedly, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. "So tell me more about this girl you met today. I want to know the details. Is she hot?"

"Smoking," I confirmed, crouching down and tilting my head side-to-side. "Young, blonde, green eyes."

"Huge tits? Please tell me she has huge tits."

"Biggest boobs you'll ever see."

"You fucker!" He yelled playfully, chucking the ball at me. "You always get the hottest chicks!"

I leaned to the right, luckily dodging the flying object. "Hey, I wasn't looking for her. She was just kind of there. You have Mey, anyway."

"Hardly," Bard snorted, snatching his bottle up and chugging his water. "I had to sleep on the couch last night. Again."

"Ooh. Tough break. What'd you do this time?"

"It's just stupid shit," he mumbled, signifying that he didn't want to talk about it. "Anyway, about this girl. A hot blonde? With huge titties? Sounds like you really scored."

"I'm not so sure," I said, anxiously rubbing the back of my neck. "I was really stumbling over my words today when I was speaking to her, and that's never happened before."

"You haven't dated in fourteen years," he exclaimed, his hand slapping my shoulder. "Of course you're going to be rusty. But it's about time you pushed that bitch Rachel out of your mind."

"No one will replace Rachel, Bard," I stated, my eyes glaring into his dangerously. "There's just something about this girl... I don't know. She makes me feel like I'm young again, even though she technically called me an old man."

"You are an old man," Bard agreed, much to my displeasure. "But you still need your dick sucked."

I rolled my eyes while I stood up straight, arching my back until my spine popped and jiggling my hands to keep them loose and limber. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk about Elizabeth with my best buddy. He was a good guy, and he meant well, but he still hadn't gotten out of the sex-crazed stage yet. Hell, maybe he never would. "Can we get back to the game, please?"

Bard scoffed at my attempt to end the conversation, but he grabbed the ball, nevertheless, and stared me down challengingly. "Fine. But you really need to get over Rachel, Sebastian, and this girl is the best way to do that."

I slid toward him expertly, but he dodged, gripping the ball tightly between his hands. "Getting my dick sucked is not the solution to getting over Rachel, Bardroy."

My friend wrinkled his nose at the sound of his full name, and he tried to dash right, but I was quick enough to block him. "Have the best of both worlds, Sebastian. Maybe she'll be a great girl in person and in bed." Bard slightly moved left, before he faked and fled right again, catching me off guard this time. He managed to move past me and he threw the ball as hard as he could. I jumped, holding my arms up and desperately hoping that I'd block it, but the ball swished into the basket, making him cry out victoriously. He turned back toward me, a lop-sided grin plastered to his lips. "Besides, Sebastian, she's a blonde. She'll be great at giving head."

 

* * *

 

My legs felt like they were made of pure lead, my feet dragging as I slowly made my way into the living room. I let the front door slam shut, for I was way too lazy to shut it gently myself. A faint glow radiated from the room, and I noticed that the TV was on, yet Ciel was nowhere in sight.

I flopped down onto the couch, groaning when my sore body sank into the cushions. I glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting that it was already five. I had been playing basketball with Bard for hours, and, though I loved working out, I knew I was going to regret it tomorrow.

My eyes flickered up to the bright screen when a flash of dark blue and red pixels lit the entire TV up, along with some familiar, dull music. A camera panned in and revealed a woman wearing a formal, navy suit. Her earrings were the same color and they barely glittered through her golden blonde hair. Her brown eyes stared into the camera with a sense of emotionless composure.

"Good evening, everyone, I'm Kimberly Johnson, and welcome to the five o' clock news."

I clucked my tongue, adjusting my uncomfortable position on the couch and whining when my muscles contracted violently. "Bring back Donna Summers," I complained absent-mindedly, drowning out her blabber as I spoke. "She was a lot more engaging."

"...We begin today with some breaking news; a gruesome scene on the east side of town..."

I perked up, my eyes widening and I sat up straighter, immediately grasping a hold of the remote and turning the volume up.

"...Todd, can you explain what happened?"

The setting transferred and a man clad in slacks and an olive green windbreaker stood in the middle of the scene, a microphone in his hand. He seemed to be standing in a deserted field, his jacket flapping in the slight wind and multiple flashing lights behind him. I squinted, trying to see what was going on, and behind various strips of caution tape I could see at least three police cars, which seemed to be surrounding an old, beat up white car. "Thanks Kimberly. Police made the shocking discovery of two teen bodies today when a deputy making his routine patrol found what he thought was an abandoned vehicle, when really, it was the final resting place for two adolescent boys."

"Teenagers?" I wondered aloud, pupils dialating in shock. "It's been forever since a teenager-"

"...McMillan and Maurice Cole..."

Upon hearing the names, my entire train of thought crumbled and turned to dust. Maurice Cole? _Maurice Cole?_ I was sure it wasn't a coincidence; Maurice wasn't exactly a popular name. The Cole family only lived a few streets down, and, though I was never close with them, Maurice and Ciel had often played together when they were little kids.

"After some further investigation, police have ruled this to be a double suicide."

My straight posture wavered, and my back slammed against the couch, shoulders hunching and eyelids drooping as I tried to soak in the news. Maurice had been Ciel's closest friend. And now he was _dead?_ He committed suicide, just like that? I didn't know much about the kid, and hadn't heard Ciel use his name for years, but knowing that someone so close to my son killed themselves, when he had his whole life ahead of him, just made my heart ache. The reporter continued to spill more details about the incident, but I promptly shut the TV off, finding comfort in the newly black screen and the silence. I didn't want to indulge in a story about two kids taking their own lives, especially not someone who was near and dear to Ciel. Maurice was practically family.

"The world is wicked," I sighed to myself, my hands covering my face. I couldn't imagine what the boys' parents were going through right now. You never know how fragile life is until one morning you wake up, and your son is no longer there.

That thought sprung me into action. I hadn't spoken to Ciel in almost two days, and it was time I fixed that. Screw work, screw dating, screw friends. My own blood came before anything, and I'd rather awaken to find that Ciel had moved out and grown up than to find him dead.

I leaned up the stairwell, stretching my neck as far as I could while I yelled. "Ciel, come down here! It's time for dinner!"

Pure relief flooded through me when I saw my son pad down the hallway, his innocent eyes gleaming and his voice hopeful. "Are we having pizza again, Daddy?"

I chuckled, shaking my head and moving out of the way as he came downstairs. "No, not this time. Anything _but_ pizza."

Ciel nodded and giggled, the youthful sound warming my heart. "Well, then what are we having? You went grocery shopping, right? What did you make?"

"Nothing yet," I sighed, though I knew I should have. All day I had been flirting with a girl and messing around with a friend, yet I apparently didn't have enough time to figure out what was for dinner. What kind of father was I? "What sounds good?" I asked, opening the refrigerator and taking a peek inside, observing that the candy was missing off of the counter from the corner of my eye. "I noticed you found the chocolate bar I left for you."

"It was delicious," he confirmed, climbing onto the counter and dangling his legs off of the side, kicking them as he sat from his perch. "I want loaded mashed potatoes with lots of cheese and butter."

Why wasn't I surprised. I could've figured that Ciel would want anything that had to do with potatoes, but hell, it had been a while since I had a proper conversation with Ciel; it couldn't hurt to play with his obsession a bit. "Erm," I started, closing the refrigerator and pressing my back up against the cool door. I shot my son a small grin. "I didn't buy any potatoes. What about a salad?"

My son jolted from my confession, the action nearly making me lose my composure at once. His eyes grew as big as saucers, and he gave me a stricken look. "You... You didn't get any potatoes?"

"Not a one," I informed, winking at him playfully. By now, I couldn't hold my genuine smirk in, and I opened up the bottom cupboard, pulling out one of the large bags. "You should know me better than that. I was hoping we could have a salad, but I guess I owe you since I've barely been home."

I was sure that he probably knew I was joking, yet he still clutched his heart, giving me a childish pout. My son, the over dramatic actor. "Don't scare me like that, Daddy." He scolded, his arms extending out as he reached for me, his fingers grasping at the air as he tried to hug me without leaving the counter. "I guess we could have a salad with the potatoes."

At times like this, I was thankful that my son still hadn't lost his lovable side, and replaced it with the rebellious streak that all teenagers acquire. I knew that his cuteness would fade eventually, but I would cherish it while it was still here; there was no time like the present, and one never knew when the breath they take could be their last.

I went over to my son, giving him a bear hug and lifting him completely off of the counter. I spun him around in my arms playfully, my fatigued muscles straining and making me groan as I did so. Ciel clung onto me, wrapping his legs around my waist and letting out soft, breathless laughs. The sound couldn't have made me happier, and I was in utter bliss knowing that even though we had gotten older, we could still make the same joyous memories. I pulled back so I could look into his eyes, and I lovingly ruffled his hair. "Phew, you've packed on a few pounds since the last time I did that, buddy. I guess you're not as little as you used to be." The words were hard to say, but I managed to speak with a smile as I set him down on the floor. "But I'm glad you've matured enough to compromise."

His legs dropped and stood on their own, his lips curling into a faux frown. "Are you calling me fat?" He pouted, but a smile soon took its place and he hugged me once more. "I just want to make Daddy happy."

I chuckled and patted his shoulders tenderly while he hugged me. "You're just getting older, I'm afraid." My tone was wistful, and I let go of my son to travel back over to the fridge. "So potatoes and salad, then?"

"I don't want to be older," Ciel whined, hopping back onto the counter and nodding. "Yep, that's what I want."

My expression fell into one of sorrow, and I was thankful that my back was to my son when I murmured under my breath. "You and me both."

I couldn't lie, I was very taken aback when Ciel calmly agreed to having salad with the potatoes, but I figured that he'd simply leave it untouched. He ended up surprising me, for he did end up piling a small portion of salad onto his plate, and he was leisurely chewing his way through it. I sat across from him, my eyes scanning my son up and down while he ate, as I tried to find the right words to say. He seemed like he was perfectly fine, but I couldn't take the risk. I coughed awkwardly, wiping my mouth with a napkin before I spoke. "Ciel, I'd like to talk to you about something."

Ciel paused his consumption of his dinner, skewered salad held just beyond his lips, his expression twisting into confusion. "About what? Am I in trouble?"

"No, no, no," I denied quickly, smiling at him reassuringly. The last thing I needed was his nerves to spike from the possibility of a scolding. "I just- well..." My words drifted off, and I coughed again, my son waiting patiently for me to continue. "You do remember Maurice Cole, right? That boy you used to always play with when you were little?"

He tightened his grip on his fork, lowering his hand and his gaze dropping down to his plate as he bit into his bottom lip. Had he already heard about it? "What about him?"

"He was on the news today," I said smoothly, slowly setting my fork down onto my saucer and watching him closely. I was afraid that he'd completely freak from the news; teenagers were ticking time bombs. "He killed himself, in a double suicide. Did you hear about that?"

"I-I," his words came out as a stutter, and he tilted his head down until his hair completely concealed his face, his eating utensil slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the floor. His shoulders trembled violently and he sucked in a shaking breath, miserable sobs rising from his throat.

I jumped to my feet in an instant, knocking my chair over in the process as I ran to his side, crouching down and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. "Ciel, Ciel it's okay," I coaxed. "I know how close you two were, but he's in a better place now."

Ciel hiccuped, choking on the low whines that he was trying to hold in and his entire body shook like a leaf, his hands coming up to cover his face as he whimpered. "D-Daddy."

I pulled him close to me, encasing him in my arms and slightly rocking him in a comforting manner. It killed me to see my son torn up like this. No parent ever wanted to see their child cry, to hear their sobs in despair as they dealt with their own grief, and it took all I had to keep myself from shedding tears. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay." I ran my hand in his hair, massaging his scalp and dividing his soft strands.

Ciel slid his arms around me, his tremoring fingers grasping onto the back of my shirt and his nails digging into the fabric. He pressed his body closer to mine, and I secured my grip on him, rubbing his back tenderly. "I'll send flowers to his parents," I whispered in his ear. "If it'd make you feel better, you can sign the card with me."

He nodded his head, and leaned it against my shoulder, sniffling. He rubbed his face against my shirt, wiping his tears away, and I could feel the tiny damp droplets seeping in. I frowned, chewing the inside of my mouth worriedly. He didn't deserve to suffer through this, not at his age. He was too young to experience such a deep loss.

"How about we watch a movie together tonight?" I asked excitedly, hoping that I could cheer him up. I moved my hands down to his sides, my fingers curling as I gently tickled him. "Any movie you want."

He shivered, his body jerking at the tickling and he mumbled against my shirt. "Okay."

I chuckled, feeling victorious from convincing him. I leaned back, letting my index finger playfully tap against his nose. "I'll make the popcorn."

I ended up pushing our half-eaten dinners aside; typically, I would've been bothered by the wasted food, but tonight was an exception. Dealing with losing someone had to be the most difficult process anyone could ever go through in life, and if a fatty bowl of popcorn and a tub of ice cream could help the process go more smoothly, who was I to deny my son of that?

So, we settled on the couch, salty, buttery popcorn in front of us along with two bowls that were filled with hearty helpings of ice cream. We decided to watch a slasher movie, one where the actors played mindless idiots who were practically begging to be slaughtered. The blood was clearly fake and watered down, and the screams of the victims were so dragged on that I would've been glad to kill them myself just to shut them up. But Ciel enjoyed it, and he even jumped and hid himself in my chest a few times from fright, which made me chuckle. In the middle of our third movie, Ciel dozed off in my lap, tranquil breaths sliding past his parted lips and his tired eyelids sealed tightly shut. I ended up shutting the TV off, and I carefully slid out from under Ciel, leaving him to sleep on the couch, but not before I covered him with a blanket and placed a pillow beneath his head.

I quietly left the living room, scaling up the stairs and finding relief once I was safe in my own bedroom. Shutting the door securely behind me, I flopped down onto my bed, digging into my pant's pocket to find the crumpled up paper. I unfolded it and stared at the wrinkled surface, the blue numbers staring back at me. We had just met today, it would seem a little desperate if I called her now, wouldn't it? _Especially now,_ I thought as I looked at my clock. _It's already midnight._

I debated in my head, my nervous fingers running over the receipt while I pondered. Most guys say that there's a three day rule, and that if you call before three days, you're obviously desperate. _But I'm thirty. I don't have time to play immature mind games._ Besides, if you liked someone, you should have every right to call them, right? Who cares if you just met?

My hands quickly fumbled for my cell phone, and I punched the correct numbers into the dial pad before pushing 'call'. I was shaking, butterflies soaring in my stomach while I listened to the ringing. It had been so long since I felt this anxious about calling someone.

"Hi, you've reached Elizabeth. I'm not available right now, but leave a message and I'll get back with you."

My hopes were crushed, and I was a bit disappointed that I couldn't speak with her. Then again, it was late, so I couldn't expect her to be awake and alert as she waited for my call. The voicemail beeped, and I shook my thoughts away, trying to find the right words to say. "Hey, Eliza- erm, Lizzie. This is Sebastian. I- uh. I just wanted to talk to you. I know we just met today, so it's probably weird to call this soon, but... I guess I just really wanted to hear your voice. I've had you on my mind all day, and I thought that maybe we could talk for a while..."

_Jesus Christ, you're rambling like a moron. Get to the point already!_

"B-but you're probably busy, o-or asleep," I continued, closing my eyes and shoving a finger to my temple. "Anyway, I'm just really glad that I met you. If I haven't scared you away by now, call me whenever you want to meet up."

My phone beeped quietly when I ended the call, and I sighed, my eyes floating up to the ceiling as I lost myself in thought. Other than the unexpected death of Ciel's best friend, today was utterly flawless. I never thought that I could feel as happy as I did today. Ciel had been in a decent mood, my body received a vigorous workout, and I met a woman who didn't run away as soon as I opened my mouth. I hated to say it, since things usually fell apart once I felt comfortable, but things seemed to be finally falling into place.

I kicked my pants off, removed my shirt and threw them both onto the floor. I put my phone back to its home on my nightstand, and I crawled under my comforter, a small smile gracing my lips as I pulled the blanket close to me and started to drift to sleep.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel the need to open my top drawer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Of this chapter, anyway. Hopefully you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave comments! ^-^ XOXO <3


	4. Cryptical Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess what, kittens and doves? It's an update! Aren't you all so ecstatic you're about to piss yourselves? No? Well, fine. ANYWAY~ It took me about a week to write this, which I'd say is pretty fucking good, because being a full time student leaves me with very little free time. You can all thank Kit for motivating me to get this finished (because I am desperate for her chapter), so lots of love for Kit! SIDE NOTE: According to my darling Kitten, when I am trying to laugh silently, I sound like the Undertaker. KEKEKEKE. Woooonderful.
> 
> I'm done babbling for now, I want you to read this chapter and love it, and fill the world with a sea of cum. (Just kidding. Possibly.) Enjoy, kittens and doves!

The sound of graphite scratching on paper filled the otherwise quiet room. Grey markings were left behind on the pristine white sheet as I crossed off wrong answers and circled the correct ones. I found it to be quite comical that the teacher thought of this as a challenging test; it was laughable to think that there would be students who failed. After going through the small packet, I began filling in the corresponding circles on the scantron sheet, being careful to mark the right spots. It had only taken me all of five minutes to complete the test, yet I waited patiently for one of my peers to stand and turn theirs in. I was not going to draw attention to myself by being the first to complete it, especially with as fast as I had done. I had to make it seem as though this little quiz had proved to be somewhat of a challenge for me; I couldn't have a teacher become a nuisance and inform my father that I was an excellent student and required no help. The days that he helped me to study were precious and prized, though he was not all that intelligent. It was the time spent together that meant so much to me.

The class period seemed to drag on as my fellow students took forever to complete their tests. I found it highly annoying that they could not finish within a reasonable amount of time. Still, I was a bit thankful to their stupidity, as it meant that I did not have to pretend to listen to the instructor blather on about things he knew nothing about. When the bell rang, signifying that it was first lunch, I quickly gathered my belongings and fled the classroom, looking forward to lunch. They were serving cheese stuffed sticks with marinara on the side, and though I'd eaten pizza consecutively for the past week, I would never tire of it in its many forms. I would eat as many as I could, because I knew that soon my father would go shopping and cut off my supply of the cheesy goodness. As I approached the line, leading into the little alcove where they served food, a boy snagged me by the arm, tugging me into the line, and forcing me to cut in front of several students. Wanting to vomit at being touched without permission, I turned my sapphire eyes up to stare into the freckled face of a tall kid with wavy ginger hair. Pushing his glasses up, he smiled down at me with dull brown eyes, opening his mouth to speak. I wondered idly if he was a Weasley.

"Hey, Ciel... Phantomhive, right? I'm Johnathon," he said, flashing a toothy grin at me.

"Johnathon Weasley?" I asked with a hopeful excitement in my voice, widening my eyes and looking at him with faux innocence. The way his face twisted up into confusion, I knew that he didn't get the reference. Fucking idiot. Suppressing a sigh, I smiled sheepishly at him, allowing my cheeks to be tinged with pink. "N-nevermind."

"Um. Anyway," Johnathon hesitated, clearing his throat. "I just, I saw how you stood up to Maurice on Monday. I thought that was really cool; I'd never have the courage to do that."

Johnathon was probably about two years older than me; that meant that he must have had a car, or at least a license. I might have found the person that I needed to befriend. Playing my cards right, I smiled brightly at him.

"Really? You seem pretty brave to me," I stated coyly, letting my cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. "And it was nothing. I just did what I thought was the right thing to do." I looked down at the ground, my eyes glancing at my black leather shoes. It was going to be a shame; I was quite fond of these shoes.

He put his pale hand on my shoulder, patting it comfortingly. "It was something. I admire you for being able to stand up for yourself." I looked up at him hopefully, clutching onto my backpack. "Say, would you like to hang out after school today?"

"I'd love to!" I said, excitement coating my tongue. My face fell a second later, a tiny pout curling my lips. "But... I have detention today..."

"I'll wait for you," he said, a little too quickly. I gave him another charming smile. Of course he would wait; I wouldn't expect anything less.

"Well then, I guess it's a plan."

The conversation was short-lived. I wasn't going to let him monopolize my lunch with mindless chatter. As soon as I got my tray full of food, I headed off to my usual table, located outside in the courtyard. I generally sat alone, which is exactly how I liked it. I did not want to waste time conversing with air-headed teenagers, especially when I'd rather be alone with my thoughts, or reading an engaging novel. I ate my pizza sticks in peace, thumbing through a leather-bound journal, my eyes scanning the pages and taking in every single detail, from the smudges of ink on aged paper, to the flow of the writing. I followed every curve of each letter with my calculating gaze, noting the punctuation, or lack thereof. I suppose it would be easy to recreate this. After I had skimmed through the entirety of the book, I began studying its construction. It seemed that it was quite old, with newer pages in the back, and a sloppily applied glue holding it together. Deducing that it had been written in for many years, with groups of blank paper added when necessary, I assumed that it had to have been a gift, of a sizable slip of leather. The first chunk of pages had been neatly glued in, leading me to believe that someone had made this journal by hand for another person, who was not quite as experienced with gluing in pages but had successfully bound them nonetheless, if a little messily. Finishing my lunch, I returned the plastic tray to the cafeteria, and headed into the bathroom, checking the time on my phone. It was 12:32, meaning that I had enough time to slip the journal back into its home inside the very first pocket of a backpack, before the owner returned. I entered a stall, taking my belongings with me, and peeled the prosthetic skin from my hands, tossing them into the toilet and subsequently flushing them away. I proceeded to thoroughly wash my hands, then exited the restroom and headed toward my next class.

Today promised to be much more interesting than the previous three combined.

* * *

The library proved to be a place of solace for me; it smelt of old, musty tomes, and the deafening silence was most welcome. I slowly perused shelf after shelf, pulling random books from their homes that caught my eye. Every so often, I glanced at my phone to check the time. Detention normally lasted about an hour and a half, and by then the school was almost completely abandoned by students, and very few instructors remained. The librarian always stuck around until quite late in the evening, welcoming novel-hungry youth into the comforts of the innumerable books. The only other personnel that remained would be the instructor that was assigned detention duty. Luckily, no one had been assigned to the correctional period this Friday, which suited my needs just fine.

With 15 minutes remaining, I approached the main desk to check out my selections. I would most likely be returning the 5 books I had chosen on Tuesday, as I would not be taking them home with me this weekend, as sad as that was. There was just not enough room in my bag for such a thing. I left the library, heading to my locker to store the novels for the weekend. After I had shut the metal door, I quickly entered the nearest bathroom, pulling out everything I would need to apply prosthetic skin. They fit my hands like gloves, snuggly conforming to every indentation of bone. I had prepared these earlier in the week, the desired fingerprints already imprinted on the fingertips. I easily applied liquid latex to the free edges of the gloves as well as to where they met my skin, securing them in place. After it had dried, I applied an even coat of foundation, blending the latex into my skin and the false skin of the prosthetics.

I studied the prosthetics, looking for any flaws. Once I was completely satisfied that they were perfect, I left the bathroom, and headed towards the front of the building to meet Johnathon. As promised, he was waiting for me right outside, leaning against the side of the building, staring off at the parking lot. I approached him cautiously, allowing an easy smile to slip onto my face.

"Sorry for making you wait, Johnathon," I said, making my voice sound quite contrite. When he didn't respond, I tilted my head to the side and quirked a brow. "Um, Johnathon?"

He seemed to jolt, his head snapping in my direction, his eyes slightly clouded with confusion. "Oh, Ciel. Sorry, I was lost in thought." He gave me a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

I shrugged my shoulders and followed after him as he led me to his car; it was white, with several areas rusting away, and it looked beat up, as if it had seen its fair share of accidents. He unlocked the rust bucket, and I opened the passenger door, sliding in and clutching my backpack in my lap. After Johnathon got in the car and it roared to life, he drove off, taking us to some unknown location to hang out.

10 minutes had passed with no signs of us stopping anywhere; he took random turns, passing a rundown gas station, driving on a long stretch of road, heading toward the middle of nowhere. I stared out of the window, my eyes lazily watching the passing scenery.

"Oh, I forgot," I suddenly spoke up, turning to glance at Johnathon, a shy smile curling my lips. "I bought a drink for you, as an apology for making you wait so long." Unzipping a pocket of my bag, I pulled out a bottle of Coke and passed it to him. He took it graciously and took a large chug from it, upending the bottle. As I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, a slow, satisfied smile spread over my lips.

After he drank about half the bottle, he pulled it away from his lips and gave it a startled look. "These are sweeter than I remembered." Johnathan licked his lips, and then swallowed his saliva. "I guess I'm really thirsty," he said, surprise coloring his voice. He finished off the rest of the soda pop, giving a contented sigh. "That really hit the spot."

I hummed, my catlike smile not leaving my lips. "I'm glad you think so." My reply was saccharine sweet.

Silence once again fell, and I settled back into my seat, going back to watching the scenery. We took a sudden turn down a barely visible dirt "road", if you could call it that: it was basically two lines worn from tires, tall grass hiding it from sight. One would easily miss it if they weren't actively looking for it. Johnathan gave a loud, unexpected belch; my eyes rolled over to look at him, a single brow quirked as he muttered an embarrassed 'scuse me. I suppose that I should have expected that. It did not, however, make it any less disgusting. Such an unbearable imbecile. What kind of person has so low self-control that they cannot stop themselves from downing an entire Coke in a matter of seconds-not to mention all of that sugar and caffeine-and then belch like a swine afterwards? Despicable. I was thoroughly repulsed, and it took a sizable amount of my willpower to keep the abhorrence out of my expression, instead forcing an easy smile in its place.

"No need to be embarrassed. It's a natural occurrence," I said placidly, though I really wanted to call him a vile subhuman cretin. I held my tongue, biting into it as I turned my eyes back to what lie ahead of us.

There was a field several yards away; though I was short and we were quite a bit away from it, I could still see the clearing. Tall, yellow grass surrounded it in an almost perfect circle, and I could tell that the ground was hard pact dirt. It was drought season, after all. As we slowed, approaching ever closer, I checked the time on my phone. I think it had been long enough. As if to prove my point, we swerved a few times, my body falling into the door of the car.

"How are you feeling, McMillan?" I asked smoothly, my face falling back into its naturally blank state.

"I... My head feels fuzzy, and my whole body feels numb and tingly," he slurred slowly. I turned my head to stare at him, and I delighted in watching as his features morphed from confused to shocked panic. I could practically see the cogs in his head slowly producing the thought that I called him by his last name, a name I should not have known.

But of course I knew. I knew the name of every single student and staff that attended or worked at our school. I knew that he was Johnathon McMillan, but that he went by his last name, and was a member of the soccer team. All of the jocks seemed to flock to Maurice, sticking their filthy fingers into his overused pie.

"F-fuck," he muttered, slowly turning to look at me, his eyes widening in fear.

"Keep your eyes on the fucking road, you moronic toad," I hissed, and he quickly looked back through the windshield. "You must be missing half of your fucking brain to think that you had me fooled. I know Maurice sent you to lure me out here, I'm not an idiot. I was waiting for him to act, but I hadn't known it would be through the star of the fucking soccer team, although that suits my needs just fine. You must have had a brain aneurism if you thought that I would not recognize the fiery pubes sprouting out of your vile head." I drew a breath, letting it out in an annoyed sigh. "McMillan, McMillan, you have no fucking idea what you just got yourself into.

"As I knew your plan ahead of time, I was able to prepare; I cannot allow two taller, stronger men to overpower fragile, petite me. In fact, I drugged that Coke. Did you mother never tell you not to consume something when the safety seal is tampered with? You really are fucking retarded. So here's what I want from you: I want you to stay the fuck out of my way while I deal with Maurice, or you'll fucking regret it." My voice dropped several octaves, becoming dangerously calm and smooth. I could smell the fear rolling off of him in waves.

"I... please-"

"Turn the car off," I ordered, cutting him off cleanly, and though it took him a few seconds for his cotton-filled brain to figure out how to do that, he did as told. "Now get the fuck out."

I reached over, pulling the keys out of the ignition and pocketing them as McMillan scrambled out of the vehicle; I wasn't going to chance him trying to escape and ruining my plans. He leaned heavily against the door, which groaned in protest under his weight, and I elegantly slid out of my seat, standing up on the ground. I lifted a foot up, curiously looking to see if my shoes had left an imprint. Luckily, the dirt was so hard that my shoes left behind no evidence. How utterly perfect. The sound of grass being parted drew my attention, and I looked toward the source of the noise. Maurice was walking towards the field, clutching a sleek black 30 caliber pistol in his bony hand. His face was twisted into a hideous sneer, like he thought that he had won already.

"Newsflash bitch, this is your downfall!" Maurice called giddily by way of greeting, his eye practically twitching.

Barely suppressed laughter rose up in my chest, and a few soft chuckles managed to pass my lips. "Maurice, what an unpleasant surprise," I purred, tilting my head to the side and giving him a scathing look.

Remaining unaware of my blatant sarcasm, he cackled like a hyena, throwing his head back in his deranged state. "You really are stupid. I can't believe how trusting you are! _All_ of the jocks are wrapped around my little finger! How do you not know that by now?" His monologue was cut short by his insistent giggling, his chartreuse eyes watering from the 'hilarity' of the situation.

Biting my tongue to stop myself from mentioning that it was he who was the one who suffered from mental retardation, I perked a brow and merely stared at him unamused. I could not wait to see the expression on his face when he realised that he had lost. "Your makeup is coming off."

I watched in interest as he brought a hand towards his face, wiping the sweat off of his brow. As he pulled his hand away, he spotted the foundation coating his fingers. His face twisted into a rage that I had yet to witness from him; in that moment, Maurice truly looked as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. "How _dare_ you!?I have a natural beauty, you fucking faggot! McMillan, grab him!" He screamed shrilly. I glanced over at McMillan, taking in his ghostly complexion, his sweat-glistening skin. I mentally estimated how long it had been since the drugs began taking effect. I could hear the outrage in Maurice's voice as he continued to demand whiningly that McMillan do something. "McMillan! McMillan?"

"By now his vital organs are shutting down. He cannot see, nor can he hear. He is in the most excruciating pain; all of his muscles are tightening up, and he cannot scream because his throat is closing off. It will be a most magnificent death, don't you think?" My voice was eerily calm, my sharp eyes settling back on the anger-blotched face of Maurice. His expression became confused. "I drugged him, you see. I knew that you were planning something, and I acted thusly. I'm no fool."

"You..?" he whimpered, his face twisting into absolute terror. "You're fucking insane!" Maurice screamed, raising the gun in shaky hands, pointing it toward me. I knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger until it was too late. I leisurely approached him, letting my lips spread into a sinister smile. "S-stay back!" He yelled, taking a few steps backwards. I did not slow my pace, and soon enough I was a few inches away from him. He jabbed my chest with the barrel of the gun, as if thinking that it would scare me away. My hand shot up, gripping onto his hand and steadying his hold on the gun. I forced him to raise it to his head, and tears began pouring down his cheeks, leaving trails in his makeup. He struggled against me, trying with all of his might to point the gun at anything except for himself, but it was all in vain. I was stronger than him, and he realised it.

"Perhaps if you had given up, you would live to see another day." The cold tip of the gun pressed into his temple, and he drew a hysterical breath, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. "You lose," I said coldly, my finger pressing down on his, making him pull the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed around the field, blood and brain matter splattering me and the surrounding earth. The slick crunching of his skull from the impact of the bullet was music to my ears. "It's too bad," I murmured. "I would have loved to bathe in your blood." His verdigris eyes lost their light, and his lifeless corpse collapsed onto the ground. Blood dripped from the wound, pooling beneath his head and mixing with the dry dirt. I released his hand as he fell, turning away from the delightfully gruesome sight.

McMillan was still propped against the door of his car, his head hanging limply over the top of it. I was certain that he was dead by now, but just to be absolutely sure, I checked for a pulse in his wrist. Satisfied that there was none, I slid him off of the door, letting his body hit the ground with a heavy thud. I replaced the key within the ignition, removed the Coke bottle from the car, and picked up a random scrap piece of paper, looking at his messy handwriting. I tossed it back inside after memorising it. My next phase of action was to locate Maurice's backpack. Seeing as how there was no other car out here, my guess was that McMillan had dropped him off out here after school, meaning that there would be witnesses to their being together. What perfection this had turned out to be. Pushing the dry grass out of my way, I searched for the hideous bag that contained the diary. It was hidden a few feet away from where Maurice's body lay bleeding out. Securing the diary, I ruffled through my own bag and took out a stack of pages. Carefully, I peeled the binding agent away from the leather cover. Those were placed into my backpack once they had been cleanly removed, before I began painstakingly gluing in sections of the forged papers. As I bound them to the leather, I checked over my work. It had been easy enough to locate aged pages, if you knew where to look. I knew that the librarian never threw anything away because of her hoarding problem, and she had some unique stacks of yellowed paper, that had a very similar consistency to the kind that was originally in the leather journal. I had matched his handwriting to a T, starting with his childish script that slowly morphed into the flowing bubble letters it was today. After McMillan had approached me, it had given me a wonderful idea on what to put into Maurice's diary, while removing myself from its entirety. Poor, pitiful Maurice, stuck in a conservative household where their homosexual love affair was forbidden. I had come up with quite the heartbreaking story, if I did say so myself. The very last line on the latest filled in page had mentions of a suicide pact being the only way they could be together.

Setting that down gently to allow the glue to dry, I made my way back over to the car, grabbing a pen and scrap paper from my pocket. I scribbled a simple "He's right" in McMillan's handwriting, tossing it down upon the back seat. I shut the car door, picked up my belongings, and looked around the clearing.

"Oh, I almost forgot," I said aloud to myself, adjusting my bag over my shoulders before flipping McMillan onto his stomach. I took each of his arms in either hand and lifted his torso up enough so that his face wouldn't drag on the ground. Making it look as if he had crawled over to Maurice's corpse, I dropped him unceremoniously into the dirt, wrapping his cold hand around the other's before rigor mortice set in. The glue had finally dried, so I closed the diary, wrapping a strip of leather around its entirety to keep it closed. Sticking it back in the backpack, I tossed it unceremoniously into the passenger side of the car, making it appear as if they had come here together directly after school. I picked up a sizable chunk of brain matter from next to Maurice, blood coating my fingertips as I had to stick my hand into the slowly drying puddle to get the biggest piece. I cupped it in my hand, curling my fingers over it protectively, and walked off, not sparing a single glance back. I had too many things to do, and not a large time frame to work with. Hopefully, I could make it home before my father did, so I could greet him as I usually did. The prospect of seeing him tonight made a smile spread over my lips, and each step I took had a spring to it.

* * *

I approached the gas station, my legs protesting from all the walking I had done, and my feet aching within my beautiful steel-toed shoes. I was positively covered in dirt and blood, but luckily the sun was already starting to set, the light fading into a deep orange and hiding the blood on my person from the view of others. A lone payphone stood behind the building, and after slipping in some change, I dialed a familiar number, one that I had memorised years before. At the first ring, I heard him pick up the phone, and without giving him a chance to speak, I muttered, "Come get me." I hung up just as fast, knowing that he didn't need much time or any of my help to figure out my location. Sure enough, his old black truck pulled in thirty minutes later, circling around back and stopping a few feet away from me. I heard the locking mechanism click, signifying that he had unlocked the door for me, and climbed into the passenger seat, passing a small indiscriminate, orange pill bottle, which had originally cradled the drugs that I had dissolved in the Coke in to his waiting hand. It currently contained the salvaged chunk of brain matter that I had secured specifically for this.

"I hope that this is suitable payment for the ride. Now take me to the woods. Please," I tacked on as an afterthought. Silence filled the cab, and he drove us easily even further away from the crime scene, taking the familiar route to a small park. There, I thanked him for his service, exited the vehicle, and headed into the forest. I had to walk carefully, avoiding disturbing the underbrush any more than I already had to. I continuously changed up my route, as I didn't want to start wearing a path and leading imbeciles directly to the hidden clearing. It sat deep within the alcove of trees, far past any trails. I had discovered it several years before, monitoring it with hidden cameras to make sure that it was a secure area. Once I was certain that only I knew of it, I began using it as needed. A stream ran directly through the center, and the trees surrounding the clearing were close enough together that I wouldn't be seen from the outside.

Slipping into the closed off area, I immediately set to work. I stripped out of my soiled clothes, once again mourning the loss of my favored shoes. I removed the prosthetics, dropping them onto the growing pile of evidence to be destroyed. Quickly washing up in the stream, I sighed in annoyance. This would only serve to remove the visibility of the blood. I would not be properly clean until I was able to take a shower in my own home. After drying off with a small towel that I procured from my bag, I added that to the pile as well; it would do me no good to keep a towel that might have trace amounts of Maurice's DNA. Father wouldn't realise that it was even missing. It was only a hand towel anyway, and we had plenty of those.

I kept an old, rusted burning barrel within the clearing, as I never knew when I would need it. The sun had already set, and darkness was the perfect cover for the fire. No one would be able to see the smoke rising into the sky, so there would be no pesky "good Samaritans" to call the fire department. I began tossing everything into the barrel, clothing, shoes, the true pages of the diary, the Coke bottle, anything that could be used against me if not properly disposed of. I squirted a healthy amount of lighter fluid onto the various items, coating them and ensuring a proper burning. I wanted only ash to remain. The plastic bottle was completely empty by the time I was satisfied, so I tossed that in as well. I lit a match, flicking it into the opening of the barrel and watching the flames flare to life with a powerful _whoosh_. It would be a few hours before the fire died down to nothing, and I could not risk smothering it until I was sure that there was nothing left. The stench of burning and melting plastic permeated the air, making my stomach roll unpleasantly. Once it had faded away into the regular earthy scents of the forest, I sat by the fire, digging out a spare change of clothing that I had kept in my bag since Monday. My mind had already been set to get rid of Maurice, as I knew he wouldn't be able to quietly and submissively obey my command. His mindless dogs were lucky that they had backed off, or else they might be in his shoes as well. McMillan had been a casualty. It was a pity that he had to get involved, but it turned out to be a good thing. For all that anyone knew, Maurice had had a good life. If it was a lone 'suicide', it would be highly suspicious, and I didn't need the cops on my trail. Likewise, you couldn't just make a teenager disappear without there being an intensive investigation. It was better to avoid that entirely by feeding the media exactly what they desired: a tragic love story.

As I waited, I began thinking about my father. I knew that he was working overtime tonight, and though I would love to be home waiting to greet him after a hard day's work, I had made my peace with not being there. It would be too late in the evening by the time I made it home, all because I could not risk there being any evidence of what I had done. If I were to get caught, I would never be able to have him as my own; our love would never be able to come to fruition. Hopefully he would not find my disappearance to be suspicious, and would merely assume that I had gone to bed. I truly hated doing that to him, but I had to do what must be done. It was for our own good, so that we could be together. Nothing-and _no one_ -would come between us.

I changed into my clothes at a leisurely pace, relishing in the heat of the embers that were beginning to die down into nothing. It took a full four hours for the fire to go out completely, annoyingly enough. I had to let the burning barrel cool, because even though the fire had died, it was still scalding hot to the touch, and I really did not want to suffer any burns or noticeable wounds tonight. Once the barrel had cooled to a suitable temperature, I tilted it forward, looking for any pieces of metal that had not been able to melt. I collected the zipper of the pants, as well as several buttons, and the iron plate and bolts that had been in my steel-toed shoes. What a loss that had been. Sticking the metal into my jacket pocket, I dragged the barrel over to the stream, pouring in a small amount of ash. I waited until it had dissipated before I added in a little more, continuing that slow process until all of the evidence had been dissolved or washed away by the water. I put the barrel back in its designated spot, zipped my bag up and slung it over my shoulder, and began picking my way through the woods. It took roughly 45 minutes to make it back into the park, and the sight of his black truck, sitting silently in the same place that he had dropped me off made my lips twist into a scowl. I had not asked him to wait for me, I no longer needed his assistance. His fucking rust bucket of a truck was far too loud for me to go home in. The damn thing would probably wake the entire neighborhood, as well as my father. I needed a perfect fucking alibi, and he was about to ruin it for me.

Stomping over to his vehicle, I yanked the passenger door open, glaring daggers at him and hoping that my gaze was enough to kill him where he sat. It sadly was no such thing. "What the _fuck_ are you still doing here? I gave you your payment, which was more than enough for a ride."

"Get in," he said, beckoning me with his finger. He was very lucky that I had more self-control than a rabid dog, or else he would have lost that condescending digit.

"I don't think so. I'm walking home. Have a lovely night," I hissed, venom dripping from my tongue. I turned away, starting to shut the door, when his chilling voice settled over me.

" _Now_." His tone left no room for argument, and with a long-suffering sigh, I grudgingly obey.

Climbing into the passenger seat, I don't even bother to buckle my seatbelt, crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance. He takes off at an insane speed, almost making me reconsider my stance on the blasted seatbelt. It was a wonder he never got pulled over. I have half a mind to jump from the moving vehicle and take my chances with the road, but I ultimately know that I can do no such thing; I can't go home covered in cuts and bruises, or else my father will be worried and possibly take me to the hospital. He was oddly silent the entire drive, which I found to be highly unusual, as he normally never shut the fuck up, and would annoy me unrelentingly. Queerly enough, this was equally as frustrating.

Color me shocked when he turns sharply, sending me flying into his frame, and I am confronted with the sight of none other than the grocery store. He stopped in front of the door, turning to look at me. "Your payment was inadequate. Secure a pack of cigarettes for me, and we'll call it good, hmm?" No wonder he was behaving unlike himself; he was probably lacking his normal amount of nicotine.

I scoffed, quirking a brow at him. "And you can't purchase them yourself because..?"

"I forgot my prosthetics," he said, flashing me a toothy grin.

If he had just gone home rather than wait four fucking hours for me to emerge, he would have been able to apply his prosthetics and purchased his own cigarettes. I really fucking hated him. Frowning in annoyance, I decided to appease him, and gave a small nod. "All right. But you have to leave as soon as they're in your hands." Sliding out of the truck, I slammed the door and walked briskly inside of the store.

Deciding to make him wait for being such a fucking nuisance, I perused the candy aisle for as long as I dared, selecting a large chocolate bar, a self-given reward for a job well done. I approached the checkouts at the front of the store, and found only one of them to be open. A woman with blonde curly hair hanging loosely down her back. I found her face to be very plain, with large emeralds for eyes. She gave me a generic smile, as she did for every single customer that came through here. How utterly dull I found her to be. Really, the only things she had going for her were her massive tits, and I wasn't interested in those.

"Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro Black Menthols, the talls?" I asked her politely as I set the bar of chocolate on the counter.

"Do you have an ID?" She asked, equally as politely, although her gaze on me was scrutinizing.

I flashed her a dazzling smile, pulling out my wallet. "Of course."

I reached into the soft leather, pulling out a pristine fake ID. It was fake only in that the address, name and birthdate were not mine; everything else was entirely real. It even had my picture on it. I handed it over to her, and she barely glanced at it long enough to check the birthdate and compare my face to the picture. After she gave it back to me, she retrieved a pack of his precious cigarettes, and then rang me up. I handed her a ten dollar bill to pay for it, piking my purchases up and leaving without taking the change. Once I reached the truck, I tossed the cigarettes at him and took my backpack. Without even bothering to say goodbye, I slammed the door once again and headed toward the back of the store. Taking the main roads would be faster, and I would be able to get home sooner, but I could not risk any more people seeing me than was necessary. It was a good thing that I was smart enough to spot the cameras in the grocery store and tilt my head in a way that my face would not be captured on film. If I had known where we were going, I would have applied my prosthetics and used the other ID. But he had to be a fucking mysterious mute. Sometimes I wondered about him.

Taking the back roads was a pain, but it was necessary. I knew it would take forever for me to get home because they led away from the direction of my house before heading back to it. I began walking down the side of the road, watching warily for the random car that might drive by. I couldn't have someone see me, and I definitely wasn't in the mood for some do-gooders trying to force me into their cars. Any time I heard a vehicle, I'd sprint out of view, hiding behind a bush or a tree, whatever was available to me. There seemed to be an annoying amount of people taking the back roads tonight; it would be a surprise if I even made it home. I ate my chocolate as I walked, sating the rumbling hunger in my stomach with the sweet, delicious candy.

* * *

"I'm home," I moaned in relief, my entire body sore from my little escapade. All that was left for me to do was take a nice, hot shower, and to curl up in my bed and have a short coma.

I unlocked the front door with my skeleton key, silently letting myself in before turning the lock. I tiptoed up the stairs, ditching my backpack outside of my room; I would put it away later. My first stop was the shower, where I could finally wash all of this filth off of my skin. After shutting the door, I flicked on the light and immediately began stripping. I shed every article of clothing, climbing into the shower and turning the water to scalding. It felt so nice to have the hot water running over my body, and I let out a pleased groan as my muscles began relaxing one by one. All the tension left my body, the aching of overuse dissipating underneath the unrelenting heat. I stood still with my eyes closed and head tilted back, letting the water spill over my face and rush down my front. I had no idea how long I stood there, but I almost didn't want to move. I could have fallen asleep with the water gently caressing me. Sadly, I wouldn't become clean that way. With a drawn out sigh, I reached for my shampoo, squirting a small dollop of it into my palm. Lathering it, I ran it through my hair, scrubbing almost violently, as if trying to wash away the memory of being splattered with Maurice's, most likely disease-infested, blood. I washed my hair three more times before I was satisfied enough to move on to conditioner. Coating every strand in the moisturizing concoction, I let it soak into my soft locks while I cleansed my body until it was pink and overly sensitive. I was sure I had probably scrubbed off a few layers of skin, though that was probably for the best. I didn't want his fluids seeping into my flesh. I shuddered at the thought, rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. After washing my face, I turned the water off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. It was almost fog-like, and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I began drying myself, letting the towel suck the moisture out of my hair. As the steam began to dissipate, my eyes were drawn to my clothing that lay crumpled on the floor. I stared at a small stain with laser-focus; it was rusty brown in color, almost the same shade as...

"No. NO. NO NO NO! FUCK!" A small droplet of Maurice's blood soaked into the color of my otherwise pristine white shirt. "Shit! How could this happen?" I whined, feeling myself rapidly descend into insanity. I had apparently missed a spot when I had been cleaning myself in the stream, and it had transferred onto my clothing.

I could feel panic coiling in my stomach, my chest tightening as my heart seized within my ribcage. I had to get rid of it, I had to, I had to. Scooping up the clothes, I fled the bathroom, practically sprinting down the stairs, slipping and sliding on still-wet feet. Even in my panic I still seemed to be as quiet as a church mouse, for which I was very thankful. I could not wake up my father, not before I could destroy this evidence. I was in the basement faster than I had thought possible, towel still barely hanging around my waist. I threw the clothing into the washer, dumping a large amount of bleach in, setting the temperature to cold. I waited, my skin tingling with the hateful anxiety. I had to get that stain out, I _had_ to. Every time the wash cycle ended, I would start it up over again, pouring in more and more bleach. By the time I was able to calm down, I had used the whole gallon of bleach, and sent the clothing through 8 cycles. I could tell from the basement window that the sun had come up a few hours ago. Cold was seeping into my bones, as I hadn't left this spot to put any clothes on, lest I corrupt them with Maurice's DNA. I had even thrown the white towel into the last cycle with the clothes, in case anything had made its way onto that. The dryer took an hour to fully remove all of the moisture from the clothing. Perhaps it would have been faster if we had a newer dryer, but it still worked quite well, if a little time consuming, so why replace something that wasn't broken?

The sound of fabric dropping down the laundry shoot made me start, and alerted me that my father was awake. Walking over to the shoot, I pulled the metal door down and peered inside; a lone pair of underwear sat there. So, that's how he slept, was it? How interesting. The dryer gave a dull beep, and I went over, pulling out the still warm clothing. I took my time folding everything before I finally left the basement. Making a pit stop in the kitchen, I grabbed a heavy duty garbage bag, shoving the clothes into it and tying it off. I headed upstairs, dropping the towel off to the linen closet in the hall, making one last stop before I would be able to go into my room. I reached up, grabbing on the rope that would lower the staircase to the attic. I took each step carefully, as the wood was prone to creaking, and this house was ancient. I'd rather not fall through a step, break my ankle, and be caught red-handed. I took the last step, fully entering the attic and looking around. It was musty, dark, and full of random boxes and things that could probably be thrown away. I hoped that my father wasn't turning into a hoarder, or else I'd have to hold an intervention with him. I disturbed the dust as I walked further in, sending the particles into the air. It tickled my nose, causing a small sneeze to echo in the small space. I set the bag down next to some old boxes, figuring that it would go unnoticed until I could properly dispose of it, as my father rarely ever went into the attic. I exited, taking my time walking down the rickety steps, before closing the attic off.

Picking up my backpack, I rummaged through a small pocket, clasping my key with my fingers. I withdrew it and unlocked my bedroom door, stepping inside the blessedly clean area. I shut and locked the door, heading toward my closet. In my weary state, I tripped over my own feet, stumbling and losing my grip on the backpack. A sudden knock at my door had my heart stopping, and my fingers scrambled to once again get a hold on my back. I caught it just before it could hit the ground with a heavy thud and froze. I held my breath, heard my father's muffled voice through the door, though I couldn't focus on and decipher what he was saying in my panicked state. I waited, still as the dead, until I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway. I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, my body trembling as I silently dropped to my knees. That had been too close.

I could hear his car pulling out of the driveway; perhaps he had been trying to tell me that he was leaving. No matter, I still had things to do. Once I regained my composure, I climbed to my feet, hanging my backpack on the closet door handle. I searched through my drawers, selecting random clothing before getting dressed. I had a long day of cleaning ahead of me, and I wasn't going to waste it by sleeping.

"First thing's first," I said to myself as I left my room. "Coffee."

As I waited for the pot to brew, I rewashed all of the dishes, making sure to remove every speck of filth. I refused to eat off of dishes that I suspected might still be dirty. After that, I selected a mug, filling it with coffee, cream, and sugar. Normally my father would only allow me to have one cup of coffee a day, mostly because you could harldy call it coffee with the way I made it, but because he wasn't here, I drank the entire pot. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

The first area I decided to clean was the basement, because it reeked of bleach, and on the off-chance that my father decided to come down here, I didn't want him questioning why it smelled so strongly of the chemical concoction. I washed all of the laundry, using the proper amount of detergents and separating the whites from the darks. While I waited for the washer to finish its cycle, I swept and mopped the floor, cleaned the window, scrubbed the surface of the washer and dryer, and cleaned the laundry shoot. Just because dirty clothing was sent down it didn't mean it needed to be filthy as well. I managed this by shimmying up the metal walls, using a towel wet with hot water and soap, and washing every inch of it. I slowly slid back down, exiting the shoot and closing the door. I put the freshly cleaned clothes into the dryer before leaving the basement.

Although I had been planning to work my way up, I decided that I wanted to clean the blasted attic right away; it was by far the most disgusting area in the entire house, and knowing my father, it had probably never been cleaned. I never usually went in there, which is why the level of dust and grime had slipped by my notice. The idea that a part of my house had been so filthy for so long made my skin itch. I collected the broom, mop and bucket, and several other cleaning utensils before I made my way upstairs. I entered the attic, setting everything down gently, and pulled on a pair of elbow length gloves. It seemed that my decision to come up here had been a good one, because as soon as I pulled the rope to close off the attic, I heard the loud rumbling of my father pulling into the drive. Luck seemed to be on my side today, possibly to make up for how much fate decided to shit on me last night. AS much as I wanted to run down and hug the life out of him, I restrained myself. That could wait; for now, I had to clean this fucking attic. The dust was coating my skin and making me sneeze like I had allergies. Which I don't, for the record… but my father does. The dust had to go. He left soon after, filling me with disappointment at the same time it relieved me that he hadn't come searching for me. Pushing my feelings away, I scrubbed the entire attic, cursing the fact that my dad had gotten a feather duster rather than the Swiffer dusters that dust would actually cling to. Feather dusters were fucking useless, sending the dust flying into the air, the little floating particles mocking me. I fucking hated dust.

With the attic finally clean, a sense of accomplishment swept through me. Perhaps I could take a break from cleaning; I very well deserved it. I could have gone to my room, but I was beginning to feel the lack of my father's presence. It was suffocating. I walked straight into his bedroom like it was my own, my feet leading me right over to the edge of his bed. I flopped down onto it, taking deep, oxygen-deprived breaths of his scent. It surrounded me as I crawled beneath his sheets. A small moan rumbled in my throat, a shiver working its way up and down my spine. I could drown in this bed, surrounded by his essence. It was almost orgasmic. I could feel the blood gathering in my lower stomach, my body on fire, skin dancing with tingles. I normally never condoned this behavior, but I couldn't help myself. I hadn't seen him in over 24 hours. I couldn't take it. I needed some sort of relief; I was so wound up from the night before, and he wasn't here to soothe my nerves. I needed my Daddy.

Slipping my hand into my pants, I pushed my underwear out of the way, my fingers brushing over my already hard and throbbing dick. A small sigh got stuck in my throat, another shiver wracking my body. I curled my hand around my aching need, squeezing slightly and slowly sliding it down the length.

"Nn, fuck," I gasped breathily, my eyes lidding heavily and my breaths coming in shallow pants.

Writhing around in his bed, I swallowed his scent, letting it send my senses into overdrive. I slid my hand up and down, drawing soft, keening moans from my lips. MY imagination began running wild; instead of my hand, it was his. He trailed tiny kisses down my neck, sucking on my clavicle, tongue flicking over my nipple teasingly. I wanted him to suck me off, my hips bucking sharply in desperation. My hand gripped tighter, picking up the pace, thumb smearing precum all around the head and down the length.

"Daddy, please," I moaned, begging to have him on me, in me. I wanted him on top of me, thrusting as deep as he could. I imagined the gentle touches he gave me becoming rough, possessive, and I nearly lost my mind. "Daddy," I mewled, bucking my hips wildly into my hand, jerking faster. My pupils dilated, my whole body trembling as the coil in my lower stomach snaps, and I cum all over my fingers, spilling into my underwear. I gasp for breath, slowly milking my dick to make sure everything's out. Laying there, I fill my sense with my father's musk, the scent of his sweat. It's an intoxicating aroma, and if it was the only thing that I could smell for the rest of my life, I would be forever aroused.

Slowly, I dragged myself out of his bed, padding over to his closet and grabbing one of his button-up shirts. I wrap myself in it, surrounding myself in his essence until he comes home. After I clean myself up, I resignedly go back to cleaning the house. "Only two floors left..."

* * *

Cleaning may have been a tedious task, especially when I wasn't sure how I was still awake, yet I could not deny the immense satisfaction it gave me. It brought me a peace that very few things could ever give me, and I would spend my whole life cleaning if I could. I had found the chocolate bar that my father had left for me on the kitchen counter whilst I had been in the midst of cleaning, and I stopped to devour it.

After another shower to get the grime and dust off of my person, it was time to relax. I sat on the couch, turning on the television. It was set to the mindless cartoons that I tended to watch when my father was around, though I derived no enjoyment from them; I watched them only because kids my age loved them. I found them to be mind-numbingly retarded, and I was sure that I lost innumerable brain cells any time I indulged in them. I quickly changed the channel to the news, a breaking news story catching my eye immediately. I didn't get to watch it, though, because I heard the familiar rumbling of my father returning home. I quickly sprinted upstairs, entering my room and shutting the door behind me. Pulling out my cell phone, I checked a news site, reading that two teenage boys had been found dead in a car, and that the police had determined that they had committed suicide together. A manic smile spread over my lips, and my eyes widened in excitement. This proved that I could get away with it, _without_ his help. Still, I wasn't too eager to cut ties with him, as he had taught me a lot, and still had more to teach me; besides, I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, and I knew I had to tread carefully.

"Ciel, come down here! It's time for dinner!" I heard my father call from downstairs.

Controlling my expression and forcing it into neutrality, though I was sure that my eyes were still sparkling with intense joy. I walked into the hallway, looking down the stairs at my father's worried visage, watching it melt into relief. So he had seen the news. How perfect. "Are we having pizza again, Daddy?" I asked childishly, hope filling my voice.

He chuckled, shaking his head as I began to pad silently down the stairs. "No, not this time. Anything _but_ pizza."

I nodded, a tiny giggle rising in my throat. I was sure that he hated pizza by now, but I could probably eat it for another month happily and without complaint, never tiring of the greasy, cheesy goodness. "Well, then what are we having? You went grocery shopping, right? What did you make?"

"Nothing yet," he said with a tired sigh. I could tell he was thinking that dinner should have already been made, but in his worry for me over the loss of my classmates, he hadn't exactly thought about it. I watched his expressions change curiously; it looked as though he was mentally berating himself, making my heart squeeze painfully for him. "What sounds good?" I walked with him to the kitchen, and he immediately began rifling through the fridge. "I noticed you found the chocolate bar I left for you."

"It was delicious," I confirmed, pulling myself up onto the countertop, where I swang my legs idly. I leaned forward slightly, my hands clinging onto the edge of the faux marble. "I want loaded mashed potatoes with lots of cheese and butter," I answered his previous question a few moments later. He had distracted me by mentioning the chocolate.

I watched as my father paused, shutting the refrigerator door and turning to give me a sheepish look. "Erm," he said, leaning against the cold metal. "I didn't buy any potatoes. How about a salad?"

A jolt of shock ran through me. How could he possibly forget potatoes when that's all that I ate? I stared at him, my eyes widening as far as they could go, though I was scrutinizing his every movement, every breath. He must have been pulling my leg. "You... you didn't get any potatoes?" I asked softly, my voice squeaking, as if he had just ripped my heart out and stomped on it. Surely I could make him squirm a little if he was trying to play a horrible trick on me. If he had _actually_ forgotten potatoes, I would demand that he go to the store _right now_ and buy 5 bags' worth. I could throw a serious fucking tantrum if I wanted to.

"Not a one," he said, tone serious, before a smile cracked his facade, and he shot me a wink. What a cheeky father I had. He opened the cupboard where we kept the delicious things, pulling out a massive bag. A man after my own heart; I could have swooned. "You should know me better than that." Of course I did; I saw right through him. I probably knew him better than he knew himself. "I was hoping we could have a salad, but I guess I owe you since I've barely been home."

As if having potatoes for dinner would make up for the withdrawals I had had from being away from him so long. I clutched at my heart, still acting as though he had given me a fright. "Don't scare me like that, Daddy," I scolded lightly, a small pout forming on my lips. Reaching out for him, I leaned ever father over the edge of the counter, not wanting to slide from my perch to reach him, yet not caring if I fell; he would catch me. I wanted him to come to me. "I guess we could have a salad with the potatoes," I said, trying to coax him to come closer. I'd honestly much rather have him for dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

Finally, finally, he strutted over to me, his arms curling tightly around me as he lifted me from the counter. I let out a little squeak, instantly wrapping my arms and legs around him as he spun me around. My heart sputtered and thundered against my ribcage; I was lucky he couldn't see my face, because I could feel the warmth of a soft blush spreading over my cheeks. How I utterly adored this man. He groaned, and I felt his muscles quake, though I was quite light if I said so myself. He had probably overworked himself again. I didn't want him to let me go, not ever. He pulled back slightly, though I continued to cling onto him for dear life, and his vermillion eyes met mine; there was nothing but love for me in the depths of his stare, and I could feel it down to my very bones. His hand came up and gently ruffled my hair, the only time I would allow a single strand to be out of place, and I almost wanted to kiss him. Until he called me fat, that is.

"Phew, you've packed on a few pounds since the last time I did that buddy. I guess you're not as little as you used to be," he said breathlessly as he put me down. What, you mean last month? Was I becoming a beached whale? I let my feet fall, fighting off an offended scowl. _He doesn't mean it that way, Ciel._ Or maybe he did. Maybe I _was_ gaining weight. "But I'm glad you've matured enough to compromise," he said warmly, pulling me out of my worrying thoughts.

I gave him a faux frown, turning my intense panic over my weight into a joke. "Are you calling me fat?" I pouted for a moment longer before forcing my face into a smile. I leaned into him, hugging him again to reassure myself. He loved me. "I just want to make Daddy happy," I said softy, and I meant it. I'd give anything for him, if I could make him happy.

He patted my shoulders, giving them a tender squeeze. "You're just getting older, I'm afraid." His tone seemed a little saddened, and as much as I wanted to keep hugging him, I let him go so he could go back to the fridge. "So potatoes and salad, then?"

I climbed back onto the counter, my heart hurting at his wistful words. "I don't want to be older," I whined. If he didn't want me to be older, then I didn't want to be growing up either. I didn't want to have to leave in four years. I _refused._ Clearing that out of my head, I nodded. "Yep, that's what I want."

He mumbled something that I didn't catch, and though I was curious, I didn't ask. I watched him prepare dinner, my stomach snarling ravenously at me. I had only eaten two chocolate bars since yesterday, and the coffee had done nothing for my hunger. My father boiled the potatoes into a soft enough state for them to be mashed. Even though I was a huge fan of junk food, nothing tasted more amazing than what he cooked. I would swear up and down that my father was the best cook in the entire world, and though I was a picky eater, he still managed to make things I didn't like taste palatable. With dinner prepared, we sat down to eat. I served myself a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes, sprinkling salt on them before I scooped a small portion of salad. Of course, the potatoes were the first to go, but I did nibble on the salad, as promised. It wasn't all that bad, but that wasn't surprising because my father had prepared it.

I had a forkful of it lifting to my lips, and I opened my mouth. Maybe I would actually finish a vegetable that wasn't avocados or Brussel's sprouts for once in my life. "Ciel, I'd like to talk to you about something." I froze; I had known this would be coming, but I had to play dumb, and I had to do it perfectly.

I twisted my face up in confusion, salad still inches from my mouth, just begging to be eaten. "About what? Am I in trouble?" I asked, letting worry lace my words.

"No, no, no," he answered quickly, giving me flashbacks to this morning, and gave me a reassuring smile. "I just-well..." He trailed off, looking very unsure of how to broach the subject. I waited, giving him time to organize his thoughts. "You do remember Maurice Cole, right? That boy you used to always play with when you were little?" If by play, he meant be horribly bullied by, then yes. _That_ was the one and only Maurice. Well, it had been.

I tightened my grasp on my fork, lowering my hand and dropping my head to stare at my plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Keep calm, don't laugh. I bit my bottom lip in an effort to stop them from spreading into a smile. "What about him?"

"He was on the news today." I heard the soft clink of metal on ceramic as he presumably set his own cutlery down. Here it comes. "He killed himself, in a double suicide. Did you hear about that?"

Hear about it? I was the one who made it look that way. But I had to keep my composure; I couldn't allow myself to crack. "I-I," I stuttered, and I dropped my chin onto my chest, hiding my face completely behind my fringe. It was so hard, so _fucking hard_ , not to burst into laughter. My lips twitched, the corners tugging into a tight smirk. My body began trembling, and my fork slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor and sending lettuce everywhere. If I wasn't trying to focus solely on keeping control of myself, I would have cursed my clumsy fingers for causing a mess. A small sound rose in my throat, and I tried to cut off the bubbling laughter as best as I could.

The sound of his chair hitting the floor echoed around the room as he flew to his feet, practically throwing himself at me. He yanked me into his arms, holding me tightly. "Ciel, Ciel it's okay. I know how close you two were, but he's in a better place now." Yeah; in hell.

I found the whole situation to be hysterical, and I shook even harder, choking on the chuckles that threatened to burst through the thin wall of control I still possessed. I hid my face in my hands, hoping he wouldn't try to look at me. I kept the laughter down to slightly deranged hiccups, whimpering "D-Daddy."

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he murmured, petting my head as he tried to soothe me. IT honestly just made me want to laugh all the more. I slid my arms slowly around him, my fingers digging into his back and possibly leaving bruises. I pressed even closer to him, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. By now I was silently laughing harder than I ever had, and amused tears were leaking from the corners of my eyes. "I'll send flowers to his parents. If it would make you feel better, you can sign the card with me," he whispered in my ear.

I didn't trust my voice, as I was still shaking with laughter, so I nodded in agreement instead. He began rubbing the back of my neck, and I wiped my eyes on his shirt as more tears of mirth spilled over.

"How about we watch a movie together tonight?" He asked, his voice morphing into a light excitement. It was clear to me that he was still attempting to cheer me up. How terribly adorable of him. "Any movie you want," he said, his fingers brushing my sides and tickling me.

I shivered at the touch, my body jerking. I knew he was just trying to make me laugh, which would be a mistake as I was still hysterical, but it only succeeded in making warmth pool in my stomach. "Okay," I said softly, using the last of my control to make my voice sound even.

"I'll make the popcorn," he said with a chuckle, tapping the end of my nose.

When he released me, I excused myself, heading upstairs to the bathroom. As soon as the door fell shut behind me, my control collapsed, as did my legs beneath me, and I fell to the floor in a heap of laughter. I managed to keep it quiet, so my father wouldn't hear. My sides ached with the force of my mirth, and soon it died down, leaving me gasping on the floor. I had never been so deeply amused in my life. Once I was sufficiently calm, I returned to the lower floor, heading into the living room, where my father waited for me, a huge tub of ice cream and a bowl of popcorn resting upon the coffee table. I picked the goriest, b-rated horror movie that we owned, settling in next to him, snuggling into his side. Though the movie didn't scare me at all, I jumped in "fright" at all the right places, hiding my face in my father's chest to secretly breathe in his scent. The rumbling of his chuckle reverberated in my ear and made me want to purr in response. I had no idea how many movies we watched before I began to doze off. I was a notoriously light sleeper, although I don't think my father realised that when he slowly slid out from beneath me, replacing his warm body with a pillow that hardly compared. He shut the television off before covering me with a throw blanket, and then headed up to his room.

I had a curious urge to follow him. Normally we both would fall asleep together on the couch when we had a movie night. I wondered what was so important that he would leave me down here by myself, not even bothering to carry me to my bed. I stood from the couch, letting the blanket fall uselessly away, and tiptoed up the stairs, stopping outside of his bedroom door. Turning the handle slowly, I opened it as much as I dared, which was a crack barely large enough to peek through. He stared at his cell phone before typing in a number and lifting it to his ear.

"Hey Eliza-erm, Lizzie. This is Sebastian. I-uh. I just wanted to talk to you. I know we just met today, so it's probably weird to call this soon but... I guess I just really wanted to hear your voice. I've had you on my mind all day, and I thought that maybe we could talk for a while. B-but you're probably busy, o-or asleep. Anyway, I'm just really glad that I met you. If I haven't scared you away by now, call me whenever you want to meet up."

Instant rage flashed through me, and I stormed off down the hall, going into my own room and silently shutting the door. Who was this Elizabeth cow? And why was my father so nervous? And beyond that, _why was he even calling this bloody tart?_ Meet up? Over my dead body. Or rather, _her_ dead fucking body. Whoever she was, this _Lizzie_ , would regret ever setting her eyes on my father. I would allow no woman to sink her claws into him ever again. My mother had already done enough damage. All women were the same as her.

"You fucked with the wrong person," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "Once I find you, it's lights out, you vile whore." I didn't care if I had to follow my father's every footsteps, I would find her, and she would be dead as fucking dust before the week was out. No one, and I meant _no fucking one,_ would come between us. I would be sure of that. "You've just signed your death warrant, bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/N: FEED ME YOUR THOUGHTS. I hoped this chapter was as amazing for you guys to read as it was for me to write. I had much fun with it~ Perhaps I'm a tad psychopathic, but I hear that it's hot to be a little murderous~. Thanks for reading, and do look forward to Kit's chapter, whenever it arrives.
> 
> Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy


	5. Scarred Sebastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter took FOREVER. I've been trying to publish it for a few days, but I just kept adding more and more. Forgive me, I was a little lazy on the editing since it seemed so long. Oh, and YOU'RE ALL WONDERFUL AND I LOVE YOU.  
> Enjoy.

Jeremy Adamson: Fender bender.

 Luna Delrio: T-boned at an intersection.

 Patricia Banks: Car completely totaled in a hit-and-run incident.

 All of their situations were equally misfortunate, for none of them would receive the compensation they deserved. Fuck, did I hate doing this. I hated having to deny people of the settlements they deserved. They were all in accidents; two of them ended up in the hospital. Hadn't they suffered enough?

 No, apparently not. Apparently, even though they were thrashed about in metal death machines and raced to the ER in the back of a bumpy, noisy ambulance, not to mention given the hefty bills that the hospitals charged, they still needed to be crushed and thrown about more, with their wallets weeping and their bank accounts most likely grieving.

 Why did the world have to be this way? Since when was money more important than the feelings of others? Of course I knew that sympathy and feelings wouldn't pay the bills; if I didn't have a job and I wasn't making money, my son and I would starve. But that didn't mean that I was trying to crush others in my endeavor to gather enough money to live. My job _required_ me to do so, but I didn't want to. If I was the owner of this company, I wouldn't deny people of the payments they deserved. Some assholes trashed their cars, sent them to the hospital, and one of the bastards even took off from the scene. And I was just supposed to sit here, looking pretty, and type in the one little word that could destroy them for the rest of their lives?

  _Denied._

 Oh, my heart ached. My chest squeezed and my lungs heaved, my ribcage seemed to crush my organs underneath its steel grasp. How could I do this. How could _anyone_ do this. How could I possibly say that I make a living off of this shit? God, I was going to Hell.

 My bony fingers left my keyboard, my head turning in shame as I clicked the left button on my mouse, submitting the report into the server and finalising it. That was it. It was done. No changing it now. I did what I did, simply so I could receive a lousy paycheck at the end of the month. If I didn't have a child to worry about, I would live in a box on the street. At least that way I couldn't hurt anyone. I wouldn't be damaging other people's lives.

 I rested my hands on my desk, letting out a stressed sigh while my back sank into the cushion of my chair. My sanguine irises wandered away from the computer screen; they'd prefer to stare at anything _but_ the computer screen. Taking in the sights of my office, I realised that my surroundings were quite bare. Then again, one could only decorate and personalise their cubicle so much before the company refused to allow any more changes. Like every other cubicle, mine had a large desk pushed up against the right wall, with a fairly decent sized desktop computer resting on its surface, along with a keyboard and mouse. A clock that the company had furnished hung on the wall right above my computer, as if it was constantly mocking me by informing me of how slow time passed.

 Other than that, there wasn't much of anything else. The walls were grey, the carpet was navy. A very plain landscape. I did, however, have a ficus sitting in the corner of my office; a gift from the secretary when I first got the job, and, surprisingly, I managed to keep the thing alive even though plants were never my strong suit. I also had a single picture frame that sat adjacent to my keyboard, allowing me to gaze at the portrait nestled inside whenever I chose to do so; which, in my case, was now.

 Pupils lovingly gazed over the details, seeing the torn up bark on a single tree and the green leaves that seemed to be waving to the side, signifying that there was a breeze blowing at the time the picture was taken. Slate hair was also swaying in the light wind, the locks shining in the soft rays of the sunlight. His head was slightly turned to the side, since, at the time, he had been facing forward when I asked him to pose for the camera, and he was required to turn back for the picture. His hands gripped the black straps of the bag that hung over his shoulders, and the faint yellow glow of a school bus was in the background. At the time, he was irritated that I asked him for a picture, yet his smile seemed so genuine in the photograph that one would never know he was angry in the beginning. His smile flashed white, perfect teeth, and if the sun had enhanced any of his features, it had to be his eyes.

 I had loved those eyes. I always would love those eyes. He had his mother's eyes, deep as the ocean, sometimes showing the fierceness of an animal yet always maintaining a cool, picturesque innocence. Those were, perhaps, the physical trait I loved most about Rachel. They were the first thing I fell in love with, and the last thing I saw before I was shattered.

 Then, I met my son. And to my excitement, yet dread, he had those eyes. It was like Rachel was back, in a much smaller, obviously more masculine form. Ciel didn't resemble Rachel much in my eyes, and he certainly didn't resemble me, but for some reason, he was blessed with the very same orbs as his mother.

 In a way, that should be a blessing for him.

 But it was a curse for me.

 I loved looking into those eyes. I always would. But I would never associate them with my son. Whenever I stared into his eyes, all I felt was the deep longing and love that I still held for Rachel. If that wasn't pathetic, I didn't know what was.

 I tore my eyes away from the picture. I hated how I was constantly feeling bittersweet emotions whenever my child was around me. I loved him, more than anything, for I truly believed that without my little boy, I probably still wouldn't be here. But why, _why_ did he have to possess the one trait that pierced me like a voodoo doll? He could've had anything, her hair, nose, voice, but no, he had to have those eyes.

 It would seem that I was in a dreary mood today, wallowing in gloom and letting the stress walk all over me as if I were a doormat. On a typical basis, pure happiness was all I felt whenever I thought about my son, embracing the tone of his irises as a good thing. Not today, though. All I felt was hurt, betrayal, sadness. All I saw was Rachel.

 And then it happened.

 It was very simple, a tiny vibration in my pant's pocket that told me I received a text message. I would've never thought that something that was usually so unimportant could turn my day around completely.

  _Hey Sebastian! What are u doing? U better not be looking up pictures of other girls! ;) Let's go out this weekend!_

 It was a simple sentence, one with spelling errors, no less, yet it sent my heart soaring into the sky. I had desperately called Elizabeth Saturday night, and to my utter panic and distress, I hadn't heard a thing back from her. I was certain that I scared her off, or that she couldn't care less about going on a date with me, but now, on this Wednesday morning that had started out to be dim and dull, I received a response from the person I wanted to speak with most, and I couldn't be happier.

 I tugged on my tie, loosening the garment even more than it already was as I read over the text message again and again; my face was red from excitement, I was sure. The only problem was, I didn't know how to reply. I wanted to explain how ecstatic I felt, but I would probably ramble and write a novel that Shakespeare would be proud of, and in this day and age, that's not exactly a proper mating call.

 "Yo, Sebastian," Bard called, sauntering in the room with the daily box of doughnuts. "They didn't have raspberry filled, I tried to get the bastards to make some but-"

 "She texted me!" I interrupted, darting out of my chair and sending my suit jacket flying off of the back of it in the process. The dark fabric crumpled to the floor lifelessly while I bolted over to my friend, shoving my phone in his face and showing off the message proudly.

 "Let's go out this weekend," Bard read aloud, his eyes squinting as they analyzed the message. "Cool," he shrugged, pushing past me and setting the box of pastries on my desk. "Remember to buy condoms."

 "Condoms?" I repeated, my eyelids flying open in surprise and my expression practically innocent, as if I hadn't a clue what the word meant.

 "Yes, condoms," he snorted. "You know, the little rubber balloon you put over your cock before you go balls deep. It prevents broads from getting preg-"

 "I know what a condom is," I hissed, glaring at my idiotic companion. He simply laughed at my expression, which made me all the more pissed off.

 "Good, then you'll remember to buy them."

 I glanced down at the phone, my eyes absentmindedly scanning over every little letter in the text. "Why would I need them?"

 "Do you want her to have your kid?" Bard asked, an eyebrow raised and his lips curled in disgust while he threw open the pastry box and snatched up a doughnut. "I'm not sure Ciel will appreciate having a new little brother or sister this soon."

 "This is our first date!" I exclaimed, bewildered. "I highly doubt we'll be having sex."

 "Better to be safe than sorry," Bard said, his voice muffled from the doughnut that was stuffed in his orifice. As he spoke, crumbs spewed from his mouth and littered the carpet below. "Wouldn't want to cockblock yourself if she decides to treat you to a scrumptious dessert."

 "Watch your tone, Bard," I growled, my blood pumping as my anger escalated. Before I knew it, my temper took over, and I slammed my hand down onto the box of doughnuts, crumpling and crushing the lid, as well as some of the pastries inside. "She's a beautiful young woman, and I won't allow you to speak of her like she's some whore."

 My friend swallowed his food immediately upon seeing the action, the lump practically bulging from his throat as he choked it down, and he protectively swiped the box up off of my desk. "Hey, hey, hey! Watch the doughnuts, man! They didn't do anything."

 "Then learn how to keep your fucking mouth shut. I'm not like you, Bardroy; I cherish the things that I have. Elizabeth isn't an object. I don't care if I'm unable to touch her for a week, month, year, or ten years. I care about her for who she _is."_

 "Sebastian, you're not thinking with your head, man," he stated softly, taking a risk by gently laying his hand on my shoulder. "I get it, your goal isn't to fuck her. That's great, but what you don't realise is that you don't even know _who_ she is. You just met her; she's a stranger. For all you know, maybe all she wants is sex from you."

 I frowned at the comment, which Bard notices, but he continued his calm explanation. "Maybe she's a great girl. Maybe, in a few years, you two will get married and be together forever. But for now, you need to take this slow. This isn't high school. It isn't easy to jump into a relationship and jump out of it just as quickly anymore. And not every girl will be the love of your life; you got lucky with Rachel. Instead of trying to fall in love like some desperate damsel, just try to keep your mind open and have fun, yeah? Kiss, makeout, fuck. Have a good time, you deserve it. You're not going to die tomorrow, so just sit back and try to enjoy yourself."

 As grim as my expression was, I knew he was right. Clearly, I had been rushing it. I was letting the excitement get to my head, and I failed to remember that I still didn't even know a thing about Elizabeth. It killed the hopeless romantic inside of me, but I had to remind myself that life wasn't a fairytale, and not all females were princesses, just as well as not all males were princes. Hell, hadn't I been a white knight for long enough? The woman I lost my virginity to happened to be the only woman I had ever had sex with. Instead of going on a road trip with my buddies to California so we could scope out the hot chicks and get into the best colleges, I was getting engaged and trying to find a job, all while throwing my scholarships into a paper shredder. Did I get to party and enjoy my twenties like every other normal young adult? Heavens, no. I had to raise a son, _on my own._ And now, I was still chasing after a perfect love that most likely didn't exist, and I was trying to tie myself down to some stranger, simply because that's all I was used to. How fucking pathetic was that?

 "I'll buy glow in the darks," I said casually, my eyes floating up to regard my friend. "That way she'll see what's pounding her with the lights off."

 "Attaboy, Sebastian!" Bard exclaimed, slapping my back happily. "Get your cock wet!"

 "Uhm, excuse me," a little voice squeaked, and we both looked over to the doorway, taking in the slightly flustered sight of our secretary. "I don't mean to interrupt your conversation, but there's a meeting in the board room. Your attendance is required."

 "Oh, I- uh..." I trailed off, my cheeks lighting up in an embarrassed blush while I rubbed my neck awkwardly. How much of that did she hear? I hoped hardly anything.

 "Aw, it's all right, Diane," Bard dismissed, flashing her a lop-sided grin as he smacked my back once more. "We were just talking about dampening each other's dicks."

 "Bard!" I shouted, my face red while I glared at him. The secretary's complexion was equally as red; the poor, shy thing didn't know what to say. "Shut the fuck up and let's get to the meeting."

 Before he could spurt any more nonsense, I dragged him out of my office, my companion mumbling a "sorry, Diane" as he bumped into her on the way out. We strode down the aisle, passing other cubicles with him being towed behind me for a few minutes before he straightened up and matched my pace beside me.

 "What the hell were you thinking, saying that shit back there?" I snarled, my facial structure still recovering from the embarassment. "Poor Diane looked like she was about to have a stroke."

 He shrugged. "You know women and their fantasies. Broads can't resist a gay-mance."

 "Except we're not gay!" I hissed, my eyes scanning the area to make sure no one was around to hear. "And even if I did like men, you _definitely_ wouldn't be my type."

 "Yeah, right. You'd be a bottom for me in a heartbeat, and you know it."

 "You wish," I snorted. "You'd be the one begging for my dick."

 "In your dreams," he muttered.

 "Not in mine, but probably in yours."

 "Gentlemen," our boss greeted as we strolled into the room. He gave us a smile, though it was clearly fake, and my posture stiffened at the sight of him. He was a ruthless man; it was best to tread lightly around him.

 "Sir," Bard and I synchronized, our heads bobbing in acknowledgement.

 "Please, take a seat," he ordered, his arms spreading wide while he gestured at the enormous table that practically took up the whole room, motioning at the various chairs that were placed around it. Our fellow coworkers stared us down while we found two chairs next to one another (thank god) and proceeded to sit ourselves as quietly as possible. The eyes that had once been watching us now turned back to observe our boss. We all patiently waited while he raked his grey hair back with his hands, the gold band on left ring finger glinting in the light while he did so. _Was he as much of an asshole to his wife as he is to us?_ I wondered. Surely not. No woman -- rather, no _smart_ woman would put up with that. And if she did, I was sure their sex life was down the drain.

 "Can't believe that crook's married," Bard whispered to me, as if reading my thoughts. "His wife must be brain dead."

 "It has come to my attention that we have a problem," our boss began, startling us and shutting all of the quiet chattering up instantly. "A big problem." He paused, turning to us to watch our reactions. We simply glanced at one another, clueless to what he was hinting at. "What makes for a good job environment, ladies and gents?" He continued, pacing back and forth. "Well?"

 No one answered his inquiry. It wasn't a surprise; everyone was scared of the bastard. If I had to compare him to anyone, he would be the perfect personification of the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland. Someone made a tiny mistake? Off with their head. A person called in sick? Off with their head. It's raining outside? Off with our heads. Yes, we were to blame for everything, even though we painted all of his roses while he sat back like the lazy ass he was. I absentmindedly created the mental image of my coworkers and I covered in red paint, while he sat there watching in an absurdly poofy dress. The thought made me inwardly snicker.

 "Apparently, there has been a lack of communication in the office. Customer service representatives are doing agents' jobs, HR has been doing customer services' job, ect. Everyone seems to be running around like lunatics with their heads on backwards, clueless as to what they're supposed to do."

 Almost as if they were _severed from their bodies?_ It was hard to hold my chuckling in now.

  "That is why I've decided that we are all going out of town for a company seminar this weekend."

 This statement caused a wave of shocked conversations to arise in the room, and it made my eyes widen in surprise, as well. This certainly wasn't expected. I glanced over at Bard, observing that his eyes were fixated on our boss, his eyebrows furrowed. Uh oh. I knew that look well; he was getting ready to start trouble.

 "By this weekend, do you mean...?" He spoke up, and the boss regarded him with serious eyes as he answered.

 "You will all leave for your hotel Friday night, participate in company activities Saturday and Sunday, and you should arrive home late Sunday evening."

 "That's bullshit!" Bard exclaimed, making everyone in the room gasp.

 "Bard," I murmured in warning, but my friend refused to listen. He instead stood to his feet, slamming his fists on the table in protest.

 "We can't just pack up and leave for this weekend; it's already Wednesday! Some of us have plans and families to take care of! You expect us to simply abandon them for stupid company activi-"

 "This is an _essential_ company event, Bardroy," he interrupted, his pupils searing right through the outspoken employee. "One that we apparently desperately need, considering your little outburst. We all need to focus on what's best for the future of UTI. Now please, sit back down or get the hell out of my sight."

 Bard's face was contorted in rage, a vein pulsating in his forehead and his lips twisting in a heated sneer. All eyes were on him, including mine, which were silently begging him to back down and let it go. Bard hated our boss, -- didn't we all -- but he normally wouldn't do something so rash. To my relief, he sat in his chair, even though it was clear that he wanted to do anything but that as he grumbled under his breath. 

 Our employer continued to explain that we would be performing communication exercises on our trip, expressing our feelings and showing our trust for one another. You would think that as a sensitive guy, I would be elated. But it was quite the opposite. I wanted to hurl.

 "This is bullshit," Bard mumbled as we exited the building, both of us dangling our suit jackets over our shoulders while we walked. Thankfully, it was our lunch hour, and each of us desired to get as far away from our work as possible. "'We all need to focus on what's best for the future of UTI,'" he mocked in a higher pitched voice. "I don't give a shit about UTI! I hope everyone who works there experiences burning when they piss!"

 "Why did you do that?" I asked, choosing to ignore his salty comment.

 "I did it for you, Sebastian," he muttered. "My buddy finally gets a fucking break and can go out with a girl, and that dickwad decides that his company is a wiser investment of time. Not to mention you'd have to abandon Ciel out of the blue. I know he's old enough to take care of himself, but fuck. Some fucking warning would be nice."

"Elizabeth!" I realised, my hand digging through my trouser pocket like there was no tomorrow. "Fuck! I forgot to text her back!"

"Then what are you waiting for?" He snorted.

My fumbling fingers had finally managed to pull my phone out, my eyes once again staring at her message that illuminated my screen, and I licked my lips nervously. "What should I say?"

"Well you obviously can't tell her what she wants to hear, thanks to Mr. I-have-a-steel-dildo-rammed-up-my-anus. Instead of this weekend, ask her if you guys could do dinner tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" I echoed, glancing at him. "But that's so soon. I have to pick up flowers, and I'll have to tell Ciel that I have plans-"

"Ask her if you could meet tomorrow night," he repeated, his tone serious. "And do not, _do not_ tell her that you have a child."

"I-I shouldn't tell her that I'm a father?"

"Hell no! No girl her age wants to date a dad. You'll scare her off. Besides, Ciel probably wouldn't appreciate the idea of the possibility of a new mummy."

That was for sure; Ciel wouldn't. We never discussed Rachel much, but that was because she hurt us both too deeply. I didn't want to refresh the pain he may have experienced, and I wouldn't want him to believe that it was easy for me to throw his mother's memory away. I hadn't even planned on telling Ciel; not until our relationship was serious, anyway, if it ever reached that point. It would be unnecessary to inform Ciel of Elizabeth's presence when we weren't even an official couple. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was different. As a stranger trying to get to know another, I felt like she had every right to know that I had a child. After all, what if we _did_ become serious, and she moved in with me? She would certainly know of Ciel's existence then, and at that point, it would probably be too late to explain why I hid it; she'd be too upset that I hid something that important. 

Then again, telling the truth may end up with a worse outcome. She could freak out, saying that she's too young to be a mother, and stop talking to me before light was even shed on the situation, before she even got to know the real me. I didn't want that. This was the first potential love interest I had in fourteen years; there was no way I was going to let it slip away that easily. But what the fuck could I do?

_Hey, Lizzie! This weekend's not so good; I was called in for work. How about dinner tomorrow?_

Upon Bard's insistence, I showed him the message, and only when I received his nod of approval did I finally send it. Don't get me wrong, my friend is certainly no love guru, but if it made him feel like he was good at something, I'd let him have his moment.

In the middle of us eating lunch, a text message notified me of a reply.

_Ur lucky I like you. :P Meet me at Rhonda's Place at 8. Dont forget the flowers!! Xoxo ;*_

"Wow," Bard breathed, the large cheeseburger that was gripped between his fingers threatening to fall onto the plate beneath it while he read the message. "She still hasn't gotten out of the 'middle school spelling and emoji' age, eh?"

"Shut up," I scolded, though I was smiling from the truth in his words.

"Hey, don't feel bad," he comforted light-heartedly, speaking with a full mouth as he crammed his burger past his lips. "If I met a chick with perfect tits, I wouldn't mind being a cradle-robber either."

I rolled my eyes, but let the comment slide and chose to focus on my lunch, as well. Fuck being a defending prince 24/7. I was perfectly fine with fantasizing about her breasts.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed slowly, not like that was a surprise. I had spent my time trying to review everything that I'd have to prepare for tomorrow; I had to order the flowers, actually put effort into my attire, memorise the directions to the restaurant so I wouldn't get lost, and if I had extra time, I'd have to dig out my old suitcase so it was ready to use for the weekend.

"Fucking company seminar," I muttered to myself as I stalked up the walkway, shoving the key into the front door in irritation. "I don't need to broaden my communication skills; I speak English, that's good enough."

I entered my home, shutting the door quickly behind me and sighing. Finally, peace and quiet to think clearly. First order of business would be flowers. I strolled past the couch, whistling a soft tune and throwing my suit jacket across the back of the sofa routinely, then heading for the kitchen.

_I believe Emily's Floral Boutique is still in business. Shit, I haven't went in there since high school. I can give them a call, order two dozen daisies, and I should probably-_

"Daddy?"

I paused for a brief moment, turning my head to look behind me. Ciel had begun to stand from the couch, rising fully by the time I glanced at him. My eyebrows arched in surprise; I hadn't even noticed him. Then again, my mind was racing with a million thoughts, so it was understandable. "Oh, hey. Didn't see you there."

I flipped around, showing my back to him while I continued whistling and proceeding into the kitchen. What had I been thinking? Oh, flowers. Right. Flowers. As far as I knew, Emily's hadn't closed down, which was great because I was familiar with that shop. I figured two dozen daisies would suffice; I had promised I'd bring extra flowers, after all.

I approached the refrigerator, throwing the door open and beginning to rummage through its contents. Now, what would be the best attire for a date? I didn't want to go full-out monkey suit, because she'd probably call me more old-fashioned than I actually am, and I'd feel uncomfortable, as well. I couldn't wear a simple t-shirt and jeans, though, because it'd seem like I cared about the date as much as I cared about going to the grocery store, and that was certainly no comparison.

"Um. Daddy, how was your day? You seem to be in a good mood." A voice squeaked, right after the quick pattering of feet entered the kitchen. I ceased my whistling, sighing quietly at the inquiry. I had so many thoughts swimming around in my head, and work was not one of them. Eventually, yes, I would have to focus on packing for the business trip, but I didn't want to focus on it now.

"Mediocre at best," I finally responded, my tone low and level. My pupils scanned over the multiple ingredients in the fridge, trying to figure out something quick to make for dinner. I needed it to be fast and easy, for the more time I had to prepare for tomorrow, the better. "I'll be leaving Friday night for a company trip," I mentioned, since we were already on the subject of work. "I won't be home until Sunday evening, but you'll have plenty of food to eat while I'm gone." My hands reached out and snatched a package of raw hamburger, along with some slices of cheese. This should be perfect. "I think we'll have cheeseburgers for dinner tonight, all right?"

Ciel made a grunt of acknowledgement, his tone light and questioning while he spoke. "What about fries?"

"Eh," I wrinkled my nose in slight displeasure. I didn't usually mind making him the food that he loved most, but tonight, my time was compromised. Cleaning and cutting the potatoes was always a lengthy process, not to mention warming the oil in the deep frier and cleaning it out afterward. "Not tonight. They're too much work."

"I-" Ciel began to speak, but he trailed off. He sat at the kitchen table, seemingly making himself comfortable while I gathered a frying pan and a spatula. I started to rip into the package of meat, my hands forming thick patties. "You seem really happy. Did something good happen at work?"

"Mm, not really. I guess it was just a good day."

I fried the hamburgers as quickly as possible, though, unfortunately, the meat didn't brown as fast as I had hoped. Nevertheless, I managed, and soon I served two steaming burgers topped with melted cheese, shredded lettuce and diced tomatoes. Ciel, still waiting at the table, watched as I set his plate down in front of him, his eyes studying the meal. I set my saucer in my usual place across from him, and as soon as I sat down, I ravenously tore into my dinner as if I hadn't eaten in years.

Ciel took a hesitant bite, slowly chewing the burger and gulping it down before he spoke. "You must be really hungry."

I couldn't deny it, I was pretty hungry, but I was certainly not starving. I was simply devouring my meal as quickly as possible so I could start planning for tomorrow; the flower shop would most likely be closing soon. I simply nodded in reply to his question, for my mouth was too full to speak. I did swallow the food, however, when I remembered that I needed to inform him that I had things to do tomorrow. "Oh, Ciel, I won't be here tomorrow night. I actually have plans with a friend, so I won't be home for dinner."

_Please don't question it._ I didn't want my son to be suspicious, but I was sure that he probably was. I never went anywhere, and if I did, I always made sure to be home for dinner. I didn't want to lie to him if he did choose to ask about it, but I couldn't tell him about Elizabeth. I didn't want him to think that I hid a secret lover from him, when really, Elizabeth was a mere stranger.

Ciel, to my relief, kept his eyes glued to his saucer, his fingers tearing apart his burger and pushing the various pieces around absentmindedly. "I see. Well, have fun." Though the sentence was simple, his voice was light and cheerful; if he felt dubious, then he didn't show it, and for that, I was grateful.

"I'm sure I will," I said, flashing him a quick, genuine grin. My eyes casually flickered down to the watch on my wrist, noticing that it was already nearing 6:30. Shit. I was cutting my time too close. I crammed the rest of my food into my mouth sloppily, shoving my chair back as I stood, and my teeth mashing my meal up as fast as they could. "Can you do the dishes tonight, Ciel? I need to take care of some stuff. Thanks!" I didn't leave him time to reply as I dashed out of the kitchen, bolting up the stairs at the speed of light. I hated ending our conversation like that, but there was only so much I could do. I wouldn't be able to order the daisies tomorrow, and I didn't want to disappoint Elizabeth by showing up empty handed.

Shutting my bedroom door tightly behind me, I pulled my cell out and started dialing. If my memory served me right, and they hadn't changed their number, then I still had it memorised by heart; yes, it had been years since I used it, but when you're in a long, dedicated relationship with a girl, you won't survive if you don't have the number to a flower shop memorised.

"Hello, this is Emily's Floral Boutique, Emily speaking, and how may I help you?"

"Yes, hello, I'd like to order two dozen daises, please," I stated politely, cradling the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I searched through my closet. _Now, what to wear..._

"Would you like those in two separate bouquets?"

"Erm, actually, it'd be better if they were all combined into one." My fingers danced over each garment, contemplating what would look best. _A normal white dress shirt should be fine._

"When do you need these, Sir? And can I get your name?"

"Sebastian, and tomorrow, preferably. I can swing by and pick them up at 7:30 tomorrow night."

"We'll have them ready for you then."

"Thank you very much, goodbye." I promptly hung up, and snatched the white shirt out of my closet. Sure, I could just come home and take off my suit jacket and tie from work and be good to go, but I wanted to take a shower before the date, and I'd prefer to have fresh clothing on; dates are a rare, special occasion.

I also chose a nice pair of light blue jeans, probably the only pair I owned that had yet to acquire any holes. I didn't want to look too formal with a button down shirt, and these jeans would solve that problem.

After my outfit for the date had been decided, I went into the bathroom to shave my face. I couldn't count how many times I had waited to shave until the last minute, and because of my rushing, I would slice up my flesh in ways Edward Scissorhands would be proud of. No, I had learned my lesson, and I would shave the night before, so if my time ended up getting compressed, I wouldn't have to worry.

For the first time in forever, I took my time shaving, lathering my face with cream and sliding the razor down as softly and slowly as possible. I couldn't risk nicking my skin; I had to look my nicest for tomorrow.

"Goodness," I mumbled to myself as I splashed icy water onto my face. "That was cold." With my eyes still closed, I reached out for the hand towel to dry myself off, but my fingers met with a metal bar. My eyelids flew open, and I noticed that even though a regular towel was folded over half of the bar, the hand towel was nowhere to be found. That wasn't right. Ciel had recently done the laundry, but the body towel was still there. Had I simply forgotten? It wasn't usual for things to slip my mind like that, but then again, I've started to get wrinkles; it wouldn't be long for my memory to crumble.

So I settled for patting my face off with the body towel, reminding myself that I needed to replace the hand towel when I had time.

I spent the rest of my night cleaning out my car and ironing my clothes, two things that I rarely ever did. I needed my vehicle to be pristine just in case Elizabeth wanted a ride home, and I didn't want to appear lazy with wrinkles in my clothing.

I wanted this date to be the first of many, and I would do everything in my power to guarantee that.

 

* * *

 

 

My fingers danced across the tabletop impatiently, my other hand gripping the large bouquet of flowers. She wasn't late, rather, I was quite early, but the possibility of getting stood up had me frightened.

I had put in a few hours of overtime since my schedule allowed it, then I raced home, redressed in my button down shirt and jeans, and bolted to the flower shop. While there, I made sure to place an order for a flower delivery to the Coles' home, signing Ciel's name on the card, as well. By then, I was way ahead of time, and now, as I sit in a booth in the restaurant, I was roughly twenty-five minutes early.

I yawned boredly, my tired eyes wandering up the walls and studying the many painted portraits. I hadn't slept much last night; I suppose my excitement and nervousness kept me awake. It felt like I had waited forever for this day, and now it was finally here. If the date went well, I was sure that I could get an adequate amount of sleep tonight. I blinked slowly, my pupils darting from one artistic piece to another. They all seemed to be scenery, one portrayed a farmhouse sitting in a vast prairie, while another depicted snowy moutains. I certainly couldn't do much better, but some of the portraits weren't as pretty as the golden frames that encased them, and for that, I felt pity for the artist.

"You're pretty early, just couldn't wait to see me, huh?"

I turned my head to the right, my eyes nearly bulging out of my sockets. Elizabeth stood there, her pouty lips lined with a rosy gloss and her green eyes large and innocent under her long lashes. She wore a white, lace skirt, the fabric teasingly revealing a glimpse of her thighs, but not enough to be considered scandalous. A matching lace tanktop with a miniature cardigan acted as her shirt, and, contrary to her skirt, the top was a bit more unimaginative. The cotton of it was so thin, her bra lines could clearly be seen, along with the little diamond embellishments that adorned it. It was easy to tell where the bra ended and the cleavage began, and what beautiful cleavage it was. Her breasts practically shined in the dim lighting of the restaurant; she must have lotioned her body right before she arrived. The thought made my mouth water.

"Elizabeth," my voice slightly cracked as I said her name in greeting, standing to properly acknowledge her. She wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug, standing on tiptoes to reach me. Her body molded to mine, and I could feel the warm pressure on my chest as her breasts were crushed against me. An intoxicating aroma of pure lavender filled my senses, and reassured me of my suspicions. She had put on lotion recently. The thought of the oily residue that graced her body rubbing off on me had my cock begging to get hard, but I had to control myself. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate being jabbed by a boner this early.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she whispered softly, her warm breath tickling the cartilage of my ear. Fuck, did that get me. If her breath against my ear gave me shivers, I couldn't imagine her breathing against other places...

_Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it..._ I instructed myself, trying to keep a hold on the warmness pooling in my crotch. I took shallow breaths out of my mouth to avoid taking in more of her scent, and I focused my eyes on the wall paintings to keep my mind calm.

"Of course I came," I answered, daring to place a gentle hand on her back. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

She pulled back, and her eyes immediately lit up when she saw the flowers in my hand. "Oh! You remembered my favorite flower!"

"Couldn't forget it," I said with a crooked grin, handing the bouquet to her. "I remembered to buy extra flowers, too."

Elizabeth tilted her head down, nuzzling her nose into the daisies and sighing happily from the smell. "You're too sweet."

Flowers in her arms, she sat down across from me, setting the daisies down on the seat next to her. I settled back in my seat, taking a deep breath and keeping my legs slightly open to prevent any kind of friction from getting to my dick. I was already buzzing with a tiny urge of arousal, and I didn't need it to get worse. My hand absentmindedly snuck into the pocket in my jeans, fingers grazing over the plastic pouch that was nestled in there. At least, I didn't need it to get worse _yet._

"Have you ever eaten here before?" Elizabeth questioned casually.

"I don't believe so."

"Well, I know it's probably not as elegant as you're used to," she teased. "But they do have decent food here."

I smiled. "I'm not hard to please. I'd actually prefer to eat at a dive than a classy restaurant."

"Really? What a surprise."

We made casual conversation, while a waitress stopped by to take our drink orders in the meantime. My heart was pounding in my chest with every new topic of discussion, reminding me how long it had been since I tried to enthrall a woman. So far, though, it had been going well, and by the time our dinner arrived, I was positively starved. Elizabeth ordered a simple chef salad, and I requested a medium rare steak; I planned on paying for the date anyway, and if I wasn't set on making more food later, I needed something heavy to get me by for the night.

"Do you like salad, Sebastian?" Elizabeth asked as she prodded her leafy meal with her fork. "Or are you obsessed with meat like every other guy?"

_Obsessed with meat like every other guy. Sounds like she's dated some real, douchey winners._ "I actually enjoy vegetables and salad. They're refreshing and light on the stomach after workouts and physical activities."

Apparently I told her what she wanted to hear, for her orbs lit up and she smirked. "Really? I've never met a man who likes salad. Here, you can have a bite of mine." She stabbed a few pieces of lettuce, bringing her fork over to me. I went to grab the utensil, but she swatted my hand away and winked. "Let me do it."

Blinking from shock, I reluctantly opened my mouth, letting her slide her fork inside. My lips closed around it and pulled the lettuce off, chewing it while she giggled and removed it slowly. "Good?"

I nodded, swallowing and patting my lips with a napkin. "Very good."

"I'm actually not a huge fan of salad. I only eat it because I need to lose weight."

I practically dropped my napkin. Uh oh. The _weight_ card. Every woman threw this at a man eventually, mainly because they wanted to be reassured that they were still considered beautiful. Most men weren't aware of this, and, in result, they'd blurt out something ridiculous and have to sleep on the couch for a week. I had lived with a sociopath for many years, though, and had to learn how to strategically answer these questions; hopefully my experience would pay off. "Oh, Elizabeth, you certainly don't need to lose weight. What are you, ninety pounds? I'm sure you don't even make a shadow."

"Ha," she clucked anxiously, a light blush tinting her cheeks. "I'm certainly not ninety pounds. And I can assure you, I have a shadow."

"I think you're absolutely beautiful. You're the thinnest girl I've ever met, and you could eat whatever you wanted without it affecting your shape in the slightest."

Her emeralds glittered as she regarded me, the blush reddening and her tiny lips curling up in a hopeful smile. "You really think so?"

I flashed her a genuine grin, reaching over the table and curling my fingers around her hand. "I know so."

Her fingers laced with mine, soft skin and manicured nails gently scraping over my flesh. She was beaming now, and her confident behavior started to resurface. "Well, since you don't think I'm fat, would you mind if I try a bite of your steak?"

"Of course." I happily pushed my plate toward her with my opposite hand, my fingers gripping the edge of the ceramic saucer. She extended her arm, her fork cradled between her digits, and as soon as it dangled above the meat, she stabbed it.

But all I felt was pain.

I jerked back, letting go of her hand, my back slamming into the cushion of the booth at the violent action. I removed my hand from the plate, the hand that once held Elizabeth's coddling my pained knuckles. Heated liquid ran down my digits and tickled my palm; I was sure that I was bleeding.

"Sebastian?" She asked worriedly, dropping her fork that was still piercing the steak. "What's wrong?"

"I- You-" I stuttered, the throbbing in my knuckles seeming to get worse. I looked down slowly, taking my left hand away from my right, and was shocked to find that my fingers were just fine. There was no blood, and there was no pain. It was all in my imagination.

"Sebastian? Sebastian?"

My eyes flickered back over to her, and I smiled sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry. I think I just scared myself."

Elizabeth blinked a few times, before she broke out in a cute giggle. "I didn't dig in that ravenously, did I? Maybe I shouldn't try it, after all."

"No, no," I dismissed, shoving the plate closer to her, only this time, I removed my hand. "I want you to try it. I probably can't finish it by myself, anyway."

After some prodding, I finally convinced Elizabeth to eat more than a single bite, and I could tell that she was thankful by the way she scarfed it down. Poor thing. I understood why women subjected themselves to intense dieting, but at the same time, I didn't, because I was never held to high body standards. They wanted to be beautiful, to be loved, to be accepted. I got that. But what I wished they would realise, is that they were already beautiful, and no diet, no body modifications, would change that.

On another note, I couldn't stop beating myself up over the freak out at dinner. Where did that come from? For years, I dined with Ciel, and I never had issues with him stealing food off of my plate. What was up with that? I was sure Bard would chew my ass out and call me an idiot for it. I could practically hear him now. _Are you trying to scare her away or what? Get a hold of yourself, Sebastian!_

I wouldn't dwell on my friend's imminent rage, nor my own idiocy. For now, I was enjoying the cool night air, the bright, full moon, the gleaming stars, and the tender squeeze of Elizabeth's hand in mine as we walked through the parking lot together. Oh, how I missed holding hands with another person. It was a perfect way to end a marvelous dinner.

"I had a wonderful time, Sebastian," Elizabeth said sweetly, gesturing down at the flowers in her arms. "Thank you so much for the daisies."

"It was nothing. Do you need a ride home?"

"Nah," she said, letting go of my hand and trotting over to a red convertible, the vehicle beeping and flashing its lights when she unlocked it with the remote. "I drove here."

"You drive this?" I asked in surprise, my eyes taking in the sleek paint job and spotless interior. She drove a sports car? _How?_ She works at a grocery store! Elizabeth giggled, nodding as she opened up the drivers side door and tossed the bouquet onto the passenger seat.

"I know what you're thinking; it was a gift from my parents. They're a lot better off than I am."

"Oh," I sighed. It made sense. I never had parents that had extra change lying around, so I couldn't relate, but I knew that on her salary, she wouldn't have afforded it on her own. "I suppose getting help from your parents makes things easier."

"They still treat me like I'm a little girl," she whined, wrinkling her nose. She went around and sat on the hood of her car, her legs dangling off of the front. "They believe that I don't have the means to be successful on my own, but I think we just have differing terms of sucess."

"I know what that's like," I breathed, looking up at the star-speckled sky. "My parents were always afraid that I'd be as poor as them my whole life, so they pushed me to be as successful as possible. It's tough, trying to please everyone. Especially your parents."

"Right. It sucks when no one believes in you."

I kicked at the ground absentmindedly, shoving my hands into my jean pockets. My posture straightened, and I gave her a small smile. "Well, I should probably let you get home. I had a great time, Elizabeth."

"It's Lizzie," she pouted, reaching her arms out toward me. "And don't I get a hug goodbye?"

The action seemed familar, though at the moment, I couldn't pinpoint from where. I approached her, however, my smile widening as I wrapped my arms around her small frame. Her limbs intertwined around my neck, pulling me close, and once again rubbing her breasts against my torso. This girl was going to drive me wild. _Stay calm, stay calm._

I pulled back, looking into her eyes as I spoke. "Have a good night, Liz-" My words were cut off as she crushed her lips to mine, my voice getting muffled and eventually trailing off all together. My arms gripped her body tighter, and her arms tugged on the back of my neck, pulling me completely on top of her as she laid down on the hood. She spread her legs, putting them on either side of me, her skirt riding further up her thighs. My dick was completely hard by now, and I grinded against her desperately, the warm underneath her skirt eagerly greeting my clothed erection. A quiet moan echoed from her throat, her tongue dancing with mine as she gyrated her body against me, her shirt slightly pulling down. She grabbed my hands, placing them directly on her breasts while she pulled the top down further, revealing her bra to my greedy eyes. My fingers kneaded and squeezed her soft cleavage, the faint scent of lavender once again filling my nostrils.

We continued the scandalous act for at least ten minutes, her hands sliding up my shirt and over my chest while I caressed her thighs and stomach. It had been years since I did something so sinful, but I couldn't give a fuck. Let the world see us making out like animals. I didn't care. I _needed_ this.

We finally parted, both of us panting and staring into each other's eyes. Neither of us spoke, but I was all right with that. Nothing needed to be said. Elizabeth adjusted her appearance, and attempted to fix her mussed up hair, which made me smile. Nothing was cuter than a flustered female.

"That was... nice." She finally said, standing from the hood of the car and walking over to the driver's side door.

"Yeah," I agreed, voice still breathless. Bard was smart to recommend bringing a condom; although I didn't use it, I was glad I brought it just in case.

"I'm surprised no one saw us," she giggled nervously, and I shrugged.

"Probably wouldn't be the first time they saw a couple making out."

She smiled shyly. "I guess you're right. Anyway, sorry for teasing you," she reached out bravely, her fingers rubbing and massaging my crotch with a wink. "Next time I'll help you take care of this."

I gulped, silently crying in pain as my dick throbbed underneath her touch. "N-next time?"

"Of course!" She exclaimed, removing her hand, much to my displeasure. "I'm assuming you want there to be a next time, right?"

"Yes!" I confirmed, a little too suddenly. She giggled at my response.

"How about next week, then?"

"Next week sounds amazing," I nodded, and she kissed me passionately, her soft hands caressing my face one last time.

"Good night, Sebastian."

I was higher than a kite. Driving recklessly down the road, screaming my lungs out and going way over the speed limit, I didn't have a care in the world. Sure, I'd have to use my hand again tonight, but that would probably be the last time in a long while. I was going to get _laid!_ This was magnificent. Best of all, I didn't chase her away, and after my little episode, that was a great sign.

"Bard said I was rushing it, what does he know?" I stated to myself, a goofy beam lighting up my face. "Who knows, maybe I'll be introducing her to Ciel, soon."

 

* * *

 

 

I sighed, taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst. This was going to be hell.

It had been years since I went into the attic, a mistake on my part. The dust was probably knee deep in there, and I was sure that my allergies would go insane. I didn't enjoy the clogged up and painful sinuses, nor did I like sneezing like a maniac, but I hadn't a choice; my suitcase was in the attic, and I needed it for my trip.

I regretted not retrieving it last night, but after the date, I was so mentally fatigued that I crashed as soon as I got home. Another mistake on my part, for now it was already Friday, and I was expected to leave for my hotel in an hour.

I bolted up the attic stairs, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I prepared to sneeze. When I reached the top, however, I was surprised to find that I hadn't an urge to sneeze at all, nor did my sinuses ache.

"Odd," I muttered to myself, making my way across the room. "I wonder if my allergies are losing their potency."

Unfortunately, everything, except for a few pieces of furniture, was tightly packed away in boxes, and I had to tear through quite a few of them to try to find what I was looking for.

"Seventh box is the charm," I said bitterly, running my pocketknife over the duct tape that sealed the box's folds. Cutting it open completely, I tore the cardboard out of the way, peering inside at the belongings within. My eyes widened, and I slowly removed the picture frame that had been sitting on top, my fingers smudging the dust-coated glass to try to see the image. "No way," I gasped, pupils dilating. "I still have this?"

I stared at the couple in the picture, barely recognizing my younger self. I was in a suit, one that was an exact replica of the outfit I wore every day to work. I was smiling brightly, showing my teeth and seeming as happy as ever. My right arm was curled around a young woman's waist, the woman grinning equally as cheerfully. She was in a satin, white gown, her blonde hair pulled back in a gorgeous braid.

"Prom night," I choked out. I was so sure of the event, it was a bit scary. But there was a bandage wrapped around the hand that clutched her hip, and that was all the confirmation I needed. I would never forget that night.

I remembered sitting in the booth at the restaurant, a hearty steak taking up my entire platter. It was a salivating sight, though, unfortunately, I hadn't been able to finish it.

"Sebastian, what was that?"

My eyes left my saucer and rose to regard my girlfriend, my jaw chomping furiously in hunger. "What was what, babe?"

_"That,"_ she repeated, her eyes narrowing and her voice getting dangerously low. "You were flirting with the waitress."

I practically choked on my food, but I managed to swallow it whole before that happened. "What? No I wasn't. I thanked her for bringing us our meal."

"You _smiled_ at her. Am I not enough, Sebastian? Am I so undesirable that you have to flirt with a white trash food server?"

"Rachel," I sighed, setting my fork down. Lately, she had been edgy, though on prom night, I never would've expected her to pull this. "You know I don't want anyone but you. Look at you, you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. No one could ever compare to you."

"Oh, is that so?" She asked, her pitch raising in an almost mad tone. She hadn't gotten this bad in a while, but here and there, she'd break into a little 'fit.' "Then what was that? I'm right _here, Sebastian!_ I saw you undress that whore with your eyes!"

The whole restaurant seemed to settle into an uncomfortable, frightened silence when she screamed. Why was she doing this? I never once stared at the waitress for more than a second. I needed to control her, calm her down. She couldn't have a meltdown in public; who knows what she would do?

"Rachel-" I said softly, reaching my arm over so I could hold her hand. In one swift movement, she brought her fork down with as much force as she could muster, stabbing my hand brutally. I cried out as the metal punctured my flesh, piercing the bones of my knuckles. Crimson spurted from my hand, and tears welled up in my eyes from the agony of it all. "Rachel!" I shrieked again, trying to bring her down from her insanity. She tended to have outbursts, but never had she gotten violent. This was new for her.

In a flash, she dropped her fork, darted from the booth and fled out of the restaurant.

"Rachel!" I continued to yell, grabbing a few napkins and holding them against my bleeding hand. I sprinted after her, finding her in the passenger seat of my car -- technically my parents' car, as I was borrowing it for prom -- her head in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably. I cautiously opened the driver's door, being slow and careful as if I was dealing with a wild animal. When she didn't seem bothered by my presence, I sank into the seat and shut the door.

"Rachel, what was that about?" I questioned, watching her intently. "You've never broke down like that before."

"You...don't want... me..." She said in between sniffles, multiple tear tracks streaking her usual flawless face.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do!" I had an impulse to wrap my arms around her, though I refrained in case she still felt violent. "I've never wanted anyone more."

"You're lying," she whined, her eyes briefly closing as more tears rolled down her face.

"No, I'm not." Removing the red, soaked napkin from my hand, I slid my keys into the ignition, turning the car on. "Buckle up. The dance has already started, and I have a surprise for you."

"Really?" She squeaked in excitement, her expression going from miserable to elated in a split second. 

"Mhm, but it's a surprise, and I can't show you until we're there, so everyone can see what it is."

She couldn't have fastened her seatbelt faster. Not only did she love surprises, but she also adored being the center of attention, so I was sure that she was looking forward to whatever I had planned.

At the time, I didn't have a plan. I didn't have any special gift on me, nor did I have a special announcement to make. But I could create one. As much as I wasn't ready, as much as I feared what this might lead to, I would do it. I didn't want to lose Rachel, and I'd do everything I could to prove that I loved her.

 

* * *

 

 

When we arrived at the dance, the music was already thumping and many students were dancing. Luckily for me, my prepared parents had a medical kit in the glove box, so I was able to properly clean and bandage my wound with gauze before we went in. Bard greeted us immediately, his limb wrapped protectively around a dolled up Mey.

"Hey, guys! We were wondering where you've been. The party doesn't start until you're here!"

I gripped Rachel's hip tighter when she pressed closer to me, giving my buddy a friendly smile. "Haha, thanks. We had a bit of a delay."

"Dude," Bard gasped, his eyes bulging as he leaned down to get a better look. "What happened to your hand?"

I glanced at Rachel out of the corner of my eye, noting that she seemed unfazed by his question. Her head was bobbing nonchalantly to the music, a tiny grin spread across her lips. I turned back to Bard, shrugging. "You know me, I'm careless. I was fucking around in my dad's garage and next thing I knew, I sliced my hand open."

Bard seemed to raise an eyebrow in suspicion, but Mey snorted and responded without him. "Please, Sebastian. It's a wonder how Rachel even puts up with you."

Hearing her name, my girlfriend returned her focus to the conversation, smirking and leaning up against me lovingly. "It's because I love him."

"And I love you," I said, placing a soft kiss to her temple.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Bard questioned. "Let's dance!"

For at least an hour, we all swayed and jumped to the music, and I made sure to keep my attention on Rachel at all times. Fortunately, she was laughing and beaming the entire time, so it seemed that her meltdown was completely over. I didn't want to take a risk, though, so I refused to glance at anything but her. I held her close when we slow danced, and I also kept my body near hers when it was more fast paced. I wanted her to have a good time, and since this was our last prom, I was relieved that she was happy.

"All right, folks, settle down. We need to announce the prom King and Queen."

Everyone stopped dancing, their eyes floating over to the speaker on stage who held a microphone in one hand and an envelope in the other.

"I hope we win," Rachel whispered, crossing her fingers.

"Me too," I breathed, more for Rachel's sake than my own.

The speaker opened the envelope, smiling mischievously when she read the names inside. "I think we all saw this one coming. Give it up for the new Prom King and Queen, the inseparable head cheerleader and quarterback, Sebastian Michaelis and Rachel Phantomhive!"

Rachel shrieked in joy, gripping my unharmed hand with an unbelievable amount of force as she dragged me up to the stage, bounding up the steps as quickly as possible. She trembled in absolute bliss as a frail, sparkling tiara was placed on her head, her arms encircling my neck and hugging me tightly while a crown was set atop my own.

"Congratulations, you two," she said happily, offering the microphone. "Would you like to say any words?"

Rachel snatched the mic in a heartbeat, squealing excitedly. "Sebastian has a surprise for me, and he wanted to wait until we were up here so all of you could see!"

A shocked gasp rose from the crowd, the students all chatting in wonder. "Oh?" The speaker asked. "Do tell us about the surprise, Sebastian."

I gulped nervously as Rachel passed the microphone to me, her hands covering her mouth while she quivered in excitement. "Uhm, good evening, everyone," I said awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact with Rachel; right now, she scared me more than the audience. "I hope everyone's enjoying their senior prom. I do have a surprise for Rachel, and I'm honored that I get to reveal it in front of all of you."

I let my gaze wander over to my girlfriend, who was still shaking in anticipation. My fingers reached into the pockets of my slacks, running their pads along the keepsake I had received from my grandmother. My parents had asked me to give it to her as a promise ring, but after tonight, and after her breakdown, I wasn't so sure. "Rachel, I love you," I said sincerely, my voice beginning to crack from nervousness. "I don't ever want to be with anyone but you. I want to reassure you of that. I don't want you to ever have any doubts about my feelings."

I felt everyone's eyes on me, staring intently and pondering my next action. I swallowed, even though my mouth was dry. A sense of dread came over me as I sank down on one knee, bringing the ring out of my pocket and offering it to her. "Will you marry me?"

The entire crowd burst into wild screaming and applause, the loud sounds echoing off of the walls. Though she screamed her answer, I could barely hear her over the students when she shouted "YES!"

I slipped the ring on her finger, then stood to pick her up in my arms, twirling her body around as we lovingly embraced. As soon as I finished my confession, she demanded that we take our prom picture right then and there, hoping to capture her absolute joy before it faded.

Once prom ended, Rachel had already fastened herself in the passenger seat, her eyelids shut as she slept peacefully. She was exhausted from tonight's events, as was I. I had stood around to talk to Bard for a while before I left, though, since this would be the only time I could get him alone.

"You didn't really want to do that, did you Sebastian?"

"Do what?" I asked, glancing at him.

"Propose to her. You really want to be stuck with her crazy ass for the rest of your life?"

"She isn't crazy, Bard," I stated, rolling my eyes.

Bard cocked an eyebrow, his index finger carelessly jabbing my bandaged hand, making me flinch. "Oh, yeah? And what happened to your hand?"

"I told you, I was fucking around in the garage and cut it."

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "She hurt you, didn't she? I told you, it'd be a matter of time before her jealousy and possessiveness got the better of her."

"She's just insecure, that's all," I sighed, my eyes looking over toward my car and the sleeping girl inside. "If I was in her position, I would be too. Girls think they have a lot to compete with."

"Normal girls do," Bard agreed, lighting a cigarette. "But she ain't normal. She knows how to act like it, but she ain't even close to being normal. Something's off about 'er."

"She's _fine,"_ I contradicted, staring at him with scolding eyes. "And soon, she'll be my wife. I'm sure everything will cool down once we finish school."

"You don't have to believe me, Sebastian," Bard shrugged, throwing the butt of the cigarette down and stomping it out. "But I know when things aren't right. And _she isn't right."_

 

* * *

 

My eyes were foggy under a layer of extra water, the tears that were glittering over my orbs dying to spill out. The memory was so fresh, as if it'd happened yesterday. I still couldn't bring myself to tear my eyes away from the photograph.

"What a fitting dress she wore," I mumbled, blinking rapidly. "She looks like a bride."

My pupils finally left the picture and went down to observe my right hand, tracing the white, four puncture scars that lined my bottom knuckles. It had been so long since I thought about that night, yet, for some reason, I flinched at dinner with Elizabeth, as if I was positive that she would do the same thing Rachel did. Elizabeth was certainly not like Rachel; I couldn't believe I was foolish enough to think that she would've done something so crazy to me. Bard had been right, Rachel wasn't normal, but Elizabeth was. She wouldn't hurt me like Rachel did. I tucked the picture away and shoved the box across the room. I needed to find my suitcase.

When I finally came across it, I pulled it out and wrinkled my nose in disgust. It was covered in dust; I'd have to wash it.

I carried it in my arms, ready to exit the attic when a black garbage bag caught my eye. I set the suitcase down on the floor, treading over to the sack, my eyebrows perked in curiosity. _What's this? I've never packed anything away in a garbage bag before._

I untied it, loosening the elastic before I pulled it open. Clothing was folded neatly in the sack, and I reached in to grab the garment on top. I pulled out a white shirt, the cloth practically unraveling and splitting in the palms of my hands. It reeked of bleach, and I studied the fabric carefully. This was Ciel's.

My pupils dilated briefly, before I narrowed my eyes and stuffed the clothing back inside, resealing the bag. I needed to have a talk with my son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN.  
> So suspenseful.  
> Sarcastic author is sarcastic.  
> Geez, I'm just in a saucy mood today, eh?  
> Next chapter should be posted soon!


	6. Corroded Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, first things first, I would like to apologise sincerely from the depths of my heart. I hadn't meant to keep you all waiting for as long as I had. The reason it took over a month for me to even make a dent in writing this is because I had very personal matters to attend to. The last two months have been excruciatingly hard on me, and I thank you for your patience and loyalty. I am sorry for keeping you darling readers hanging, without even a word of hiatus whispered. I also owe a big apology and a tremendous thank you to Kit for all of the support they've given me through this entire ordeal, and for finally motivating my ass to sit down and write. Both of us are very much readers of this story, as we both write separate chapters, and then send them to one another to be edited. We tend to look forward to the other's chapter, which can be hard when one of them (namely me) takes forever to post. Thank you so much, my little devil. I adore you.  
> I won't keep you any longer with my wordvomit, so without further ado, please enjoy!

The bus rattling to a sudden stop made me start, drawing me out of my dazed state and dragging my gaze from staring blankly out of the window. Slowly I stand from my seat, filing down the walkway and stumbling down the steps, my feet clumsily hitting the pavement with a dull thud. I'm entirely unbalanced, my body feeling like I'm trudging through lead, yet my head is oddly light and filled with clouds. Each step I take is a battle of wills against my exhausted body. The walk to my house is short, but it feels as though I've been walking for centuries before I make it to my front door. I fumble with my keys, struggling to shove the metal piece into the lock. With a frustrated huff, I finally manage to unlock the door, and I fling it open, barely pausing to slam it shut. Trudging over to the couch, my bag slides off of my shoulder and hits the floor with a muffled thud, my body collapsing as soon as my knees hit the cushions. With a tired moan, I splay out atop the furniture, my eyes falling shut as I wonder how something could be so comfortable and yet bring me no peace. I wished that I could curl into a ball and fall into a short coma, yet sleep was impossible for me as of late. I lay awake at night, tossing and turning, eventually giving up and staring up at my ceiling, my thoughts haunted by this unknown whore. I had to figure out who she was, as fast as I could, so that I could eliminate her before she could sink her disgusting claws into my father and drag him into misery; after all, every single woman was exactly like _her._ That my father had even thought that a single parasite would be any different from my mother was mindblowing, and perhaps stole unconsciousness even more than the secret identity of the harlot. My inability to sleep was intensified by my lack of appetite; everything that I put into my stomach made a quick return, my body rejecting the nutrients. As I lie in bed, my stomach became a hollow pit, devouring my insides and leaving me with an ache I had not felt for years. The underlying threat of nausea made me anxious to toss too much, lest I dryheave and awaken my father in the dead of night. The last thing I wanted was for him to rush me to the hospital, or to even notice that something was bothering me. I prided myself on being a wonderful actor, and I would not have that shattered thanks to uncontrollable vomiting.

I blamed this all on my father's sudden need to keep his cellphone on his person at all times; if he would just leave it lying about as he normally did, I would be able to pinpoint the trollop's name, and I could begin my search and actually get a peaceful night's fucking rest, perhaps even keep my food down. I hated to even think it, but he was beginning to act like a teenager, not able to be too far from his phone for extended periods of time. I could feel my nose wrinkling up in annoyance, a heavy exhalation forcefully exiting between my parted lips in a sharp sigh. If I had had the energy, I would have pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation; instead I lay lifeless upon the sofa, my mind wandering to my observations of my father for the past few days. He had been getting increasingly gloomy as each day passed, his entire demeanor seeming to sag beneath a lifetime's worth of misery. While I hated to see him in such a state, a small bloom of happiness fluttered to life inside of my stomach, hope daring to enter me. His sad state of mind could only mean that she had not given him a single response; I highly doubt that she had rejected him outright, as that would be completely fucking insane, but her not bothering to call or text him was enough to send out a clear signal. Maybe I had nothing to worry about. He didn't need some strumpet, he had me. I could make him happy, I could lick his wounds that this wench had inflicted with her very harsh rejection. That single thought lifted my mood greatly. I might finally be able to keep food down tonight. Hell, I might even be able to get some fucking amazing sleep. That thought alone was almost enough to make me moan.

The opening of the front door letting in the sound of cheerful whistling and the happy visage of my father made all of my hopes crash and die in a flaming inferno. So much for getting any fucking sleep tonight. That small warmth of happiness dried up into nothingness, leaving behind in it's place the blackest pool of hatred, and my desperation to find this tart and erase her from existence coming back so forcefully that it knocked the wind out of my lungs. The final blow came in the form of my father, his graceful stride leading him from the entryway, his back to me as his whistling became one long, sharp piercing screech in the air. If I had been a weaker person, I would have curled up and died; he ignored me. _My own fucking father had ignored me._ In all my time living with him, not once had he ever walked through that door and not called out for me, or greeted me. Red flooded my vision as my heart pumped fiercely in my chest, and with renewed strength, I rose from the couch, my breathing eerily steady. I could feel my fists twitching at my sides with the need to claw, strangle, _kill_. The bitch better fucking run, because when I found her, she would rue the day she had ever laid eyes upon my father. I would not just kill her, oh no. She had to fucking suffer, as I was now suffering. I felt as though I did not exist for my father, a mere blip in time as soon as some disgusting, vile, manipulative cunt drew his eye. I would not stand for it. _I would not_ fucking _stand for it._

"Daddy?" I called out, my voice as innocent and confused as I could make it. Look at me, just _look at me._ Make everything all right. I stood fully, taking a step forward as he turned around.

The shocked expression on his face said it all. He had not even noticed my presence. The whistling still pervaded my ears, as cringe-inducing as a tea-kettle on a stove, and it almost drowned out his words completely. "Oh, hey. Didn't see you there." The world seemed to stop, crumbling into rubble and dust beneath my feet, a heavy silence pressing down on my ears, almost worse than the whistling that had preceeded it. My vision swam, the edges fading to black as my surroundings became blurry. I was entirely numb, no emotions vying for attention, the nerve-endings in my skin deadened. It took every ounce of my fading willpower to keep me from blacking out. My trembling knees knocking together brought everything back all at once; light hit my eyes, nearly blinding me before I focused on the broad back that was once again facing me, the soft whistling reaching my ears as my father made a tune that I was unfamiliar with, and my skin tingled with hypersensitivity. My emotions rushed me, too powerful for me to take. I wanted to scream my throat raw as anguish washed over me, cry uncontrollably as my heart broke into a thousand pieces, tear my arms up with my nails, the need to maim nearly overwhelming me as my loathing for a stranger grew out of proportion to my small frame.

I had to pretend that I was all right. I couldn't let him see this ugliness inside of me; such a repulsive thing it was to _feel._ I reached for him, my stumbling legs leading me after him. I would not break, not yet, not in front of Daddy. I drew a shaking breath, trying to draw up as much strength as I could muster. I trailed into the kitchen, falling over myself as though I were heavily intoxicated. "Um. Daddy, how was your day? You seem to be in a good mood." I squeaked, the breaking of my voice the only indication that something was horribly, terribly wrong. I could feel my stomach threaten to heave as he continued to search the fridge, studying its contents, not looking at me.

_Look at me._

"Mediocre at best," was his simple reply, his tone leaving me no room to further question him. "I'll be leaving Friday night for a company trip. I won't be home until Sunday evening, but you'll have plenty of food to eat while I'm gone." As if I could force food into myself; with nausea this strong it was amazing that I had yet to throw up at the mere thought of eating. He disappeared behind the metal door, before straightening up and revealing a package of raw ground beef. "I think we'll have cheeseburgers for dinner tonight, all right?" Normally that particular meal choice would have been very agreeable, and I would have happily consumed it, and yet the fact that he had just decided upon it without even thinking to ask me made this entire situation that much worse.

_Fucking look at me._

I heaved, trying to stifle the sound behind my hand, my entire body quaking with the force of it. I drew short breaths through my nose, trying to steady my voice. "What about fries?" I asked when I could trust myself enough to speak without vomiting.

"Eh, not tonight. They're too much work," my father said nonchalantly.

"I-" I bit into my tongue, drawing blood and filling my mouth with the metallic flavor. Never had he said such a thing to me. Fries were never a problem; he never had any issue in preparing any potato dish for me. I wasn't going to lie, I almost fucking lost it. I had to sit the fuck down before I passed out, or worse - snapped and verbally berated my father. Dragging my feet, I approached the table, falling heavily into it as my legs finally gave out. I couldn't pass out. I had to be normal. Normal, normal, normal. Be good for Daddy; make him love you. Make him look at you.

_Please, look at me. Please._

I watched his back, the muscles contracting and flexing as he began fixing the burgers. I was quiet for a long moment, leaning against the back of the chair for support. I had to get it out of him. He was whistling again, that annoying fucking sound. My eye twitched, and I curled my arms around myself to keep myself together, fingers digging into my bony sides. "You seem really happy. Did something good happen at work?" I pried, hoping he'd slip up and tell me whatever it was that he was keeping from me.

"Mm, not really. I guess it was just a good day." I swear to fucking god, my brain almost broke. _'Mediocre at best', 'Just a good day',_ repeated in my brain, chasing each other in circles, mocking me. He lied. He _fucking lied_ to me. I almost couldn't wrap my head around it. One or the other, Daddy, one or the other. You can't have both. Can't have both.

I turned away from him, sitting facing the table, though my deadened eyes stared blankly into space. I was too consumed in my taunting thoughts. If it was a good day, then there was nothing mediocre about it. It can't be both, Daddy. You're so silly. So silly. You fucking slipped up Daddy. I know you're lying to me, _I know._ I'm not stupid, Daddy... Do you think I'm stupid? Why would you lie to me? Tell me the truth, Daddy. _Fucking look at me. LOOK AT ME. Don't you know how to fucking look at me?_ Don't you see me, Daddy? I'm hurting, I'm in pain. You're supposed to take care of me. You're supposed to _love_ me. Don't you love me, Daddy? _Don't you love me?_ Why won't you make me fries? Don't you want me to eat? Or do you think I'm fat? You must think I'm disgusting, fat, gross, vile. Sickening. Why else wouldn't you want me to eat? You should be catering to me, Daddy. Daddy, look at me. Look at me, Daddy. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. _DaddydaddydaddylookatmedaddylookatmeLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOKDADDYDADDYDADDY._

His large hand entered my field of vision, snapping me out of my thoughts. He placed a plate in front of me, and it might as well have been covered in maggots with the way it made my stomach turn unpleasantly. I could see the steam rising off of the still hot, juicy cheeseburger. I wanted to want to eat it. I wanted to be able to stomach food. But all I could do was stare at it, disgust and bile coating my tongue. Slowly, my eyes trailed up to my father, who sat across from me. He was scarfing his food down as if he had been starving for years. I hesitantly reached out, taking my own burger in my hands. I had to eat something, I had to make it look like I was eating, or he would suspect that something was wrong. I took a bite, chewing it slowly and fighting the rising urge to spit it out. Don't think about it, just eat it. I swallowed it, feeling it gliding down my esophagus and hitting my stomach. A cold sweat coated my skin, and the blood fled my face as I went pale. Shit, shit. Don't puke. Don't you fucking _dare_ , Ciel Phantomhive.

"You must be really hungry," I murmured, trying to distract myself by looking at my father. The juices from the burger running down his chin as he ravenously tore the burger with his teeth made my stomach flip flop with intense nausea; it didn't help at all to look at him, so I dropped my eyes to stare at the grains in the wood of the table.

"Oh, Ciel, I won't be here tomorrow night. I actually have plans with a friend, so I won't be home for dinner." It sounded as though he were informing me of this as an afterthought, his tone completely nonchalant. But I could hear the slight tremor in his voice as he told me, as though he expected me to question it yet didn't want me to.

I turned my gaze to my plate, my dainty fingers ripping my burger into pieces, a way to focus my anger without losing my fucking mind. If he had just said Bard, maybe I wouldn't have wanted to question it. I needed to stay composed, however. I couldn't let him know that I knew about her. So instead of demanding answers, I merely stated, "I see. Well, have fun." My tone was completely flat, void of all emotion, no inflection to my words. That was all I could manage to say without letting my rage and pain bleed through.

"I'm sure I will," He said, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before darting out of his chair and heading out of the kitchen. "Can you do the dishes tonight, Ciel? I need to..." I stopped listening.

Every word out of his mouth was just adding insult to injury, and I didn't want to hear anymore. Once I heard his footsteps fade up the stairs, his door clicking shut loudly because my father didn't know how to do anything quietly, I sprung out of my seat, knocking it to the floor in my haste to scramble over to the kitchen sink. I fell into the counter, standing on tiptoe and bending my neck so that my face hovered over the drain. I heaved twice, my entire body spasming as it rejected the small bit of cheeseburger that I had forced it to take in. I vomited, my vision blurring with the force of my stomach contracting. All I could taste was bile and tomatoes, and it was enough to make my stomach roll again. I stood there for who knows how long, body jerking and twitching until all my muscles ached from dry heaving. With a shaky hand, I turned the knob, allowing water to wash the evidence down the drain, flicking the disposal to life. After shutting everything off, I collapsed, my knees hitting the ground hard enough to send a jolt of pain through me. There were sure to be large, ugly bruises forming from busted capillaries. I slowly lowered myself into the fetal position, the cool floor a wonderful comfort on my heated flesh. A tiny sob caught in my throat, though my eyes were dry.

Now was not the time to be bawling like a child on the floor, certainly not where my father could find me. Using the cabinet doors as support, I climbed to my feet, mentally shaking myself. How weak I was to break down in such a manner. I couldn't protect my father and what we had if I let a few little bumps in the road pull me down. Dusting myself off, I strode out of the kitchen, walking silently with purpose up the stairs. Pausing outside of my father's door, I pressed my ear against it, catching the middle of a phone conversation. I jerked back in shock, my mouth falling open in an 'o' of surprise. My suspicions were now confirmed, not that they had needed to be. He had been ordering daises for his date tomorrow night. I knew that they certainly weren't for me, as I fucking detested daisies. Gears in my head started turning, and I quickly made my way back downstairs, consumed in my plans.

I sent my unfinished food down the garbage disposal before I meticulously washed the dishes, hardly focusing on the task long enough to deem each dish clean. The easiest way to dispose of the woman would be to slip a poisoned needle into her bouquet. My poison of choice was specifically created for my use, secured through my contact; it was unidentifiable and essentially undetectable in small traces. Luckily, a little went a long way. With only a few drops, the organs would begin liquifying within mere seconds of entering the bloodstream. It was a violent and painful death to experience, though it only took about five minutes for the heart to cease all function. But, no, I couldn't go that way, because knowing my father, he would accidentally touch the needle, or get stabbed with it, and be dead before I could administer the antidote. Besides, I couldn't have this woman's death be too quick; after all, she was stealing him away from me. She had to suffer.

Perhaps I could follow my father to the restaruant, figure out which strumpet it was, and then expertly break into her car. It would be no trouble for me to hide in the back seat while she dined with him, waiting until she climbed into the vehicle and drove me to her house. Of course she wouldn't notice me, as I was quite small in stature and could squeeze myself into small spaces with ease. Follow her into her house, and make a tight noose for her pretty little neck. I could string her up like a ragdoll and make it seem as though she had committed suicide. Wait, no. Suicides were very uncommon in this area, and having Maurice and McMillan, and this tart die in what looks like a suicide so close together would be very suspect. Not to mention that my father was not a stupid man, and I was sure that he would be able to connect the dots. This wouldn't do, either. I ran countless scenarios through my mind, dismissing them one after another. None of them would work, not without...

Sighing, I set the final plate into the drying rack, a displeased frown curling my lips. I had no choice, I had to contact _him_ again. If it could have been avoided, I would have gladly left him out of my scheming. Working with him was utter hell; having to sit through his running commentary made me want to puncture my eardrums, and I was getting sick of his roaming hands. I detested to be touched, and he very well knew it. His game of making me as uncomfortable as possible was highly unnecessary, and if I thought that I had a chance of succeeding, I would blow his fucking brains out without any hesitation. Unfortunately, the man had too much dirt on me, not to mention decades worth of skill more than I had, that I would fail and instantly place myself on his shit list. That was not the place I wanted to be, so instead I had to put up with his inane bullshit.

Since it couldn't be avoided, I wasn't going to pussyfoot around and curse my life. My plan needed to be set into motion, and standing here twiddling my thumbs would get me nowhere. I was unsure of whether my father would be leaving his room again tonight, but I supposed I could risk leaving, as he would probably assume I was asleep. If he even noticed my absence. I had to be quick about this, though, because I had quite a few things I needed to get ready for tomorrow. Picking up my backpack, I went over to the closet and grabbed a hoodie, pulling it over my head and hiding myself from the view of the world beneath the hood. The last thing I needed was someone noticing I was not at home. It had been a while since I had used my bicycle, but because time was of the essence I deemed it to be quite necessary. There was no way in God's gaping anus that I was going to fucking walk a long distance after having done so too recently, especially when I had been lacking several night's worth of sleep.

The bicycle was kept in the basement, pristine without any patches of rust, hidden away from the harsh elements of weather. It also kept it from being stolen, because I never knew when I would need the metal contraption. Flicking on the light in the stairwell, I padded into the basement, my tired eyes easily finding the shiny blue bike. My father had gotten it for me for my birthday three years ago. It was quite large, and he told me that it was okay because I would grow into it; how funny that was as I had barely grown since age 11. The make of the bike had told me that it was expensive, and that he would go to such lengths to get me a nice one made my heart constrict. It had probably cost an entire paycheck, if not more, and even still, looking at the bicycle now, three years later, still managed to flood me with memories of his pleased expression when he presented it to me. My heart fluttered, but I squashed the feeling. Now was not the time to be swooning. I picked up the metal frame easily with both hands, lifting it up to avoid making any noise by banging it into the wooden stairs. I carried it easily back up to the first floor, setting it down only long enough to turn the light back off and shut the basement door. I exited the house, bike in tow, and locked the door after I shut it. Rolling the bicycle down to the sidewalk, I tossed my leg over it, mounting it unsteadily, having to stand on tiptoe so that I wouldn't topple over. Where were my father's genetics when it came to height?

As I began pedaling away, I could hear the neighbor's dog give a loud bark, followed by the sound of metal clinking against metal as he strained against his chain and jumped against the fence that kept him caged. I paused only to sneer at the disgusting creature. I absolutely detested animals. The little bastard was lucky that I didn't have any chocolate on me - or did I? I was sure that I kept an emergency bar on me... Yanking my bag over my shoulder, I began digging through my bag, securing a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Eyeing the dog's size, I shrugged, ripping the wrapper off and giving him the remainder of the chocolate. He immediately ceased his infernal barking, happily chowing down on his new treat. Smirking, I straightened up and began pedaling away.

"Get sick and die, you little fuck," I muttered darkly, my eyes narrowing hatefully.

Perhaps I was in more of a sour mood than usual; I normally didn't go around feeding candy to the neighbor's pets, yet considering my situation, I was more than entitled to be in a shitty state of mind. If anyone was to blame, it was the mystery woman who thought that she could step into my father's life without a fight. I had to find a payphone that wasn't located too closely to my neighborhood, yet wasn't too far away, as I was running short on time. Pedaling faster, taking my anger out on the sidewalk with the aggressive speed in which I was riding the bicycle, my thoughts began to focus on him, and his irritating requirement of using a payphone to get hold of him. Was he fucking kidding me? Payphones, in this day and age? I knew that he was fucking ancient, but the old man seriously needed to get with the times. If he would just allow me to use a modified disposable phone to call him when I needed him. I could make the damn thing untraceable, hell I was even willing to get a new one every fucking month and destroy the old one, if he would just _concede._ But no, the old bastard was set in his dinosaur-age ways, even though payphones were going extinct and the few places they remained at were gas stations. If I had my own car and was able to drive, that fact might not have irritated me as much, but seeing as how they were all quite a distance away from my home, biking there and back was a waste of my precious time.

Once I had finally made it to a gas station that was the perfect distance away from my house, I slowed down, coming to a stop before hopping off of the blue bike and wheeling it as I walked over to the aged payphone. Pulling out some change, I dialed his number, wiping the receiver with an antibacterial wipe before cradling it between my shoulder and ear. It rang about five times before he finally picked up.

"I need you to take me to dinner tomorrow," I stated flatly, wasting no time with pleasantries and jumping straight into business. "Dress nicely."

Silence on his end for a little too long, before he finally responded, voice sounding slightly confused. "What time?"

"1 in the afternoon. Got it?" I barely waited for an affirmative reply, hanging up on him and quickly walking away from the gas station. Climbing back onto my bicycle, I started pedaling, hoping to return home soon, so that I could make my preparations.

* * *

The sky was slowly beginning to lighten as 4 in the morning approached, dawn threatening to overtake the night. Having not been able to sleep once again, my sluggish brain struggled to come up with a way to follow my father without being obvious. The brilliant idea had struck me at 3:30 am, and so I had crept out into the frigid night air, sneaking into my father's car and gently removing the GPS piece from my father's dashboard. A shiver ran through my spine, the cold biting at me as I carefully tampered with the technology, my nimble fingers easily reconnecting wires and reprogramming the GPS. I had hacked into its database within twenty minutes, and now I was currently waiting for the virus to infect its coding. I had created my own little spyware, specifically for the purpose of tracking my father's whereabouts, and I had been hesitant to use it before the circumstances had turned dire. This program would be undetectable to the eyes of one who wasn't computer savvy, and even for those who were, it would take ages to decode it and remove the bug from the system, if it wasn't impossible. A small beep notified me that the virus had completely taken over the small device, and my fingers flew over the screen giving myself remote access to the location of this GPS. I had it set up in a way that I would receive the exact location of my father's vehicle in real time directly to my cell phone, and be able to follow him from a safe distance without ever losing sight. After reinserting the technology back into its slot on the dash, I turned the machine off, slid out of the car, and locked it.

Once I was back in the house, I went upstairs and crawled into bed, lying wide awake and staring at the ceiling as I waited for my father to start his day. It was a risky idea to continue my preparations while he was here and awake, lest I be caught redhanded and have to come up with a lie on the spot. I would rather be free to take my time than worry about having to be silent. I could hear him stirring, walking down the hall and preparing for work. I was quite impatient for him to leave so I could test my virus as well as get everything set for today. My thoughts slowly floated around in my head, and I must have dozed off slightly because the next thing I was aware of was my father's car roaring to life and pulling out of the driveway. Sitting up, I grabbed my phone and clicked to the app I had installed the program on. A map filled my screen, with a blinking green dot moving on the screen. Whenever the light stopped flashing, I knew he was stopped, whether it be at a red light or stop sign, and when he parked at work, the light went red. I stared at the screen until he was safely parked at work before I finally dragged myself out of my bed. I trudged over to my dresser, where I yanked a bottom drawer completely out and reached into the dark space, pulling out a small, tied bag of clothing. My prosthetic equipment and a long black wig were then pulled out before I stood, staring down at the things I had gathered and making sure I had everything, before I waltzed to the bathroom, flicking on the light and staring into my sunken, dull blue eyes in the mirror.

My appearance was that of the walking dead, and I could not allow myself to leave the house looking like some overrated zombie. I hopped into the shower and took my time, letting the hot water swallow me up and soothe my aching, exhausted body before I leisurely began washing myself. I made sure that my entire body was thoroughly cleaned before I stood underneath the stream before the hot water dissipated and ran cold. Only then did I allow myself to exit the shower and dry my skin and hair. I wrapped the towel tightly around my person and blew dry my silken locks, not caring how they ended up, because my hair would end up completely covered and mussed up by the wig anyway. Once I deemed my tresses dry enough, I turned the hair dryer off and began untying the bag, opening it to reveal a thin white dress, sheer white tights, and dainty creme ballet flats, as well as a nude bra and panty set. I pulled the panties over my legs, letting the soft fabric rest gently on my hips before sliding the bra over my arms and securing the clasp in the back. Going for believability, I had a pair of pre-made breast prosthetics, set at a c-cup, and slipped them into place, adjusting the tightness of the straps. Picking up the dress, I held it in my hand for a few moments before tugging it over my head and shoving my arms through the sleeves that ended at my elbows. I stared at my reflection, taking in the white fabric; it was cinched at the waist, meant to show off a feminine figure while still remaining a modest dress. The collar was wider than normal, brushing against my clavicle just so, the hem stopping just below my bruised bony knees. Intricate lace designs decorated the thin cotton, itching my skin where it touched me. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, I rolled the tights up my legs and then slipped my dainty feet into the flats.

I began applying a thin layer of latex to the entirety of my face, slowly building it up and creating a new and unrecognizable structure. After it had fully dried, I applied a heavy amount of concealer and foundation as a base for a more natural looking makeup. I kept it minimal, just enough to make my doe eyes appear bigger and my lips to appear fuller, my face taking on a more feminine look than it already possessed. After I applied the makeup carefully to my satisfaction, I set the wig atop my head, hiding my own hair beneath the black locks, and securing it with an abundance of bobby pins. Brushing through the faux hair, I separated each loose curl, allowing it to cascade down my back and spill over my shoulders. I stared at the stranger in the mirror, who looked back at me with mournful, dead eyes, an expression of sorrow and anger contorting her lovely features.

The ringing of the phone jolted through me, tearing my eyes away from my reflection as I padded down the hallway and stopped hesitantly at the top of the stairs, waiting for the voicemail clicked on. Once the phone ceased ringing and a small beep sounded from the machine, I silently walked down the stairs, heading over to the machine and hitting the play message button. Realising that it was just my school calling to inform my father that I wasn't at school, I deleted it quickly, and treaded back up the stairs. I collected my phone and a clutch, carelessly throwing money and my other fake ID into it before I made my way to the living room. I sat patiently on the couch, watching the clock and waiting until the hand landed on one. I knew that he wouldn't be late, though his obnoxiously loud truck would not alert me to his arrival, as he would most likely park a distance away and walk here. It was exactly 1 when I heard him knock swiftly and loudly on the door, unending until I stomped over and threw it open, his hand pausing just in front of my face.

"Do you fucking mind?" I hissed at him, anger coating my tongue and bleeding into my words. I couldn't see his eyes behind his fringe, but I'm sure they were wide as he stared at me, his head moving up and down in an exaggerated motion.

"Kekekekekeke," he threw his head back in sheer amusement, his arms cradling his stomach as he did so.

"Shut the fuck up, Undertaker." Taking a closer look at him, I realised that he was wearing his normal attire, rather than his heavy prosthetics, which served to send me into a frothing rage. "Where the _fuck_ are your prosthetics? Didn't I fucking tell you to dress nicely?"

Undertaker continued to laugh, trails of delighted tears running down his face, and as he finally got his insanity under control, still hiccuping, he opened his mouth to speak with his most hated grin. "I thought I would have you do them, so I could see how much you've progressed." Rolling my eyes, I tried to collect all the patience that I possessed in my tiny body, before spinning on my heel and leading him into the house.

"Sit," I demanded, waiting for him to obediently plant his ass on my couch before I walked upstairs, gathering my prosthetics and makeup from the bathroom, as well as a few hair products.

I wasted no time in applying the latex to his face, recalling how exactly his were applied. I generously covered the hideous scarring on his face, making his skin appear smooth and flawless. As I let the latex dry, I pinned his bangs out of his face and began pulling his hair back into a tight, messy bun at the nape of his neck, making the hair smooth against his scalp. He had much too much hair for my liking, the silver strands flowing down past his ass distastefully. If I had been able to stuff the locks into a wig, I would have attempted it, but his tresses were much too thick and long. Instead I took a aerosol bottle of black hair stain, generously spraying it over his hair, avoiding his skin, until it was coated, not a strand of silver showing through. Applying the makeup to his face was an easier process than it had been for myself, because all I really needed to do was make the latex appear to be skin, blending it down into his neck and carefully matching his skin tone. I handed him a mirror, packing up my things and starting to stand.

He placed a pair of glasses on his face, gazing at himself in the small mirror, an approving smirk curling his lips. "You never cease to amaze, Ciel."

I nodded my head curtly, traipsing up the stairs and hiding my makeup supplies in the hole beneath my dresser, before slipping the wooden compartment back into its home. On my way back down the hallway, I stopped at my father's room, breathing in his scent as I walked in, hesitating by his bed and staring down at the messed up blankets. It seemed like only yesterday I was tangling myself in his sheets; I wanted so badly to crawl underneath his covers and wait for him, but I couldn't. I had a harlot to take care of, and I very well couldn't leave Undertaker alone downstairs for too long. Who knows what that scum would infect with his disgusting presence. I entered the closet, sifting through all of the clothing there until I found a nice suit. Lifting it off the bar, my eyes studied it; I was certain that he had never worn it, as it was much too constricting and dressy for my father. I knew he loathed to wear a simple tie, let alone the slacks and suit jacket his work required of him to don. As much as I thought he would look quite dashing in this, I could not deny that his ripped jeans and t-shirts suited him more.

Thinking of my father was hindering me; I clutched the suit in my arms and left his room at once, going back to the first floor to find Undertaker still sitting on the couch. Thrusting the clothing at him, I kept my gaze pointed at the floor. "Wear this," I muttered, sitting down on the other end of the couch while he unabashedly stripped in the middle of my living room. I could not allow myself to continue dwelling in my pain and suffering. I had to focus on the objective at hand, so that I would be able to execute it flawlessly. I couldn't allow myself to be caught; we would never be together if that happened. One fatal mistake, and that would be the end of all of my hard work. I was a professional now, I could not allow myself to have a single error; it was not as it was that day, the rain coming down around me as I had my first kill. I had made many mistakes, and I was lucky to get away with it. _Perhaps luck had nothing to do with it,_ I thought bitterly, my eyes flicking to Undertaker as he adjusted his tie.

The beeping of my phone startled me out of my thoughts, and I quickly pulled it out of my purse, unlocking it. My father was pulling out of the insurance company's parking lot, and while I had plenty of time to leave before he got home, it was 5 and I knew that now was our only chance to leave without being seen by the neighbors, as they were all sitting down for dinner. No children would be outside, no one would be looking out of their windows. Standing up, I ran my hands down my front to smooth my dress as I walked toward the door, knowing that Undertaker was following me. As we stepped outside, I looked up at him, determination filling my eyes and present in the set of my jaw.

"We'll be going to Emily's Floral Boutique first," I announced. As we walked down the street to his rusty truck, I fell silent once more, my thoughts consuming me.

* * *

We were sitting inconspicuously in the parking lot of Emily's, my eyes drawn away from my phone as I watched my father leave the boutique and get into his car. The smile on his face sickened me almost as much as the way he walked, a bounce in his step. Only I could do that for him, and for a woman to have caused such a joy to overtake him made my stomach turn. As he pulled out of the lot, I dropped my eyes to my phone, watching his progress on the screen before I gave Undertaker the go ahead to start following him. Every now and then I would speak up, giving him directions, and soon enough we were pulling into the parking area of Rhonda's Place, which wasn't too far from the flower shop. I was hoping that my father had better taste in restaurants, and I was assuming that the stupid tart had picked it. Making sure that he was already inside, I exited the vehicle and began walking towards the building. Undertaker's foul arm slid around my waist, and much to my distress, I let it sit there as we had to appear as though we were on a date. His silent laughter trailed behind us as we entered the establishment, and I left him to securing us a table through bribery, my eyes scanning the room and the faces of all the people. I saw my father sitting alone, and I stared at him silently until long golden locks blocked my view. I turned my head, shock coursing through me as I recognized the cashier from the grocery store, all decked out in slutty attire. As her emerald eyes landed on my father, her face lit up, and I knew.

It was _her._ This whore, this disgustingly plain cow, on a date with my father? How laughable that was. So this was Elizabeth, hm? The bitch who wanted to play with me. She made a beeline for the bathroom, and I followed several paces behind, allowing her to go in first so that she could secure a stall before I entered. I could see her feet beneath the stall door, the sound of her rummaging through her purse before a soft _aha_ floated out, and she carelessly dropped the stupid contraption onto the floor. I hated to criticize my father's tastes, but he'd picked a real fucking winner. What kind of fucking retarded cow set her purse on the floor, where it could be stolen? No matter, she had played perfectly into my hands. Slipping on a pair of white gloves, I covertly stuck my hand into her purse, pulling out her ID and snapping a picture of her address before I slid the card back into its place. Elizabeth Midford, your clock is counting down. Resisting bursting into laughter, I put my phone away, the overwhelming scent of lavender took over the entirety of the bathroom. So the blond bitch was putting on lotion? Disgusting.

My stomach rolled, and I made a quick escape, my eyes easily finding Undertaker. He had managed to get a table near my father, and as I sat down, I could see him perfectly.

"You shouldn't let your eyes wander from your date, kekeke," Undertaker chuckled, his annoying voice low.

Resisting the urge to punch him, a small scowl twisted my lips before I let my expression relax into a pleasantly flirty smile. "This isn't a real date, you insufferable fuck," I murmured, picking up my menu and pretending to scan the meal options. I wasn't planning on eating, rather just pushing food around my plate, so it didn't matter what I ordered. I glanced over in time to see my father hugging Elizabeth, and a soft gagging sound rose in my throat, my eyes immediately averting. If I could curl up and die on the spot, I would. I needed to disinfect my father before I allowed him to touch me again.

"I didn't know you had such feelings for me. You should have told me sooner," the man across from me purred, his lips curled up into a taunting smirk. "Even though I'm not into minors, I would always make an exception for you."

His hand brushed over mine, and I tensed. Why must he touch me? Why must he coat my precious skin in his filth? I hated that we were in public, because I couldn't stab him without causing a scene. Instead I settled for giving him the most scathing look, opening my mouth to give a vehement retort just as a waiter appeared at our table.

"Good evening, my name is Steven, and I'll be your waiter for this evening. What can I get you to drink?" The lanky male said, his wild brown locks curling around his face as his dull green eyes fell upon me. I could see a blush color his cheeks. _Might as well use it to my advantage._

"Hello Steven," I purred, my voice taking on a lilting feminine tone as I gave him a smoldering flirty look. "I would like to get a bottle of wine. Can you do that for me?"

I had flustered him, and he stuttered over his words as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Y-you look so young. I wouldn't have thought that you were l-legal..."

Smiling coyly, I slipped my hand out from underneath Undertaker's, instead placing it lightly on the waiter's arm. "That is so _sweet_ of you to say. I'm actually 26 though. I'm quite old." Giggling, I raised my eyes to his, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. Just get me my fucking wine so I can stop touching you, you filthy fucking scum.

"Oh Miss, you're not old at all," He quickly sputtered. "I'll get that wine for you straight away." With that, he fled, practically tripping over his feet. I smirked victoriously, turning my nose up and facing Undertaker once more.

Instead of praising my amazing acting skills-not that I would expect such a thing from him-his grin merely widened. "When you asked me on a date, I didn't actually think it would be a date."

"Oh, put a fucking sock in it, you lecherous bastard," I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest.

Steven didn't disappoint; he brought the bottle of wine out within three minutes, and I couldn't even recall what I had ordered to eat I was so absorbed in spying on my father. I was sure I had disappointed the waiter, as I hadn't given him the time of day when he brought the food out. As I pushed my plate's contents around with my fork, I spotted my father flinching back, and the look of utter pain on his face pierced through me. Undertaker's hand coming down on mine was the only thing that stopped me from acting out on the rage that filled me. I would have slaughtered that fucking blonde cow, in front of all of these people, and not have cared in that moment. If she had dared to hurt him, this would be her last night. Instead, I felt my body relaxing as my father laughed whatever it was off, though I was still filled with a throbbing anger. I wanted this date to be through, and I wanted it fucking now.

* * *

Dinner was finally, thankfully, coming to a close. I made sure that Undertaker grabbed the bottle of wine that I was paying for, as I'd probably like some later. It had been delicious, something I was actually able to keep down. I watched as my father walked out of the Rhonda's with Elizabeth, and I quickly gathered my things, throwing down a sizeable chunk of cash on the table, certain it would cover our meal several times over. I'm sure the waiter was going to have a field day with his tip. I walked out of the restaurant at a brisk pace, leaning forward in the hopes that it would make me move faster without having to break out into a sprint. I wasn't sure that my fatigued body would be able to handle it anyway. As I stepped outside, I could feel Undertaker's presence behind me as I scanned the parking lot for my father's car. I had to beat him home, in case he actually decided to acknowledge my existence.

What caught my eye had me stopping dead in my tracks, Undertaker's chest colliding with my back and making me stumble forward. His arms circled around me, but I barely felt them as everything seemed to fade away. Nothing seemed to exist outside of my father, dry humping the whore like a horny fucking teenager on what I assumed was her car. My heart shattered into a million pieces, stabbing into me before a black hole sucked all the shards away, leaving a gaping wound in my chest that ached and burned with every breath I took. The pain made my knees tremble and shake, my bones knocking into each other. A film of tears coated my widened blue orbs, and a few slipped unbidden down my pale cheeks. I heaved violently, my stomach emptying its contents as wine and bile splattered sickeningly onto the asphalt. Blood vessels popped beneath my skin, my body uncontrollably heaving. I wanted to fucking die, to disappear. I didn't want to exist anymore. My ears were ringing so loudly that I couldn't hear anymore, my vision went dark, and had Undertaker not been holding me, I would have fallen face first into a pool of my own vomit.

My body finally stopped rejecting its contents, though it still trembled violently, and I slowly lifted my head. My mouth had the distinctly bitter taste of rancid grapes and bile, so I spit several times, trying to cleanse my palate in an effort to keep my stomach from rolling. Wine dripped off of my chin, a cold sweat breaking out over my skin. Perhaps I had imagined it, perhaps it was a horrid daydream, brought on by my silly little fears. That was it; that _had_ to be it. My father would never betray me in such a way. My vision cleared, sight coming back to me as sharp as a needle, the street light making my head hurt. I slowly slid my gaze back to the overpriced red death trap, the sight of her sucking my father's face assaulting my eyes once more. I wanted to be blind, I never wanted to see again, and I could feel my fingernails digging into my right iris. I was absolutely sickened. To think that my Daddy would succumb to such an obvious succubus utterly destroyed me. The pain was unreal, all consuming. I felt betrayed. The way she spread her legs invitingly made me want to cut them off. She was a disgusting slut, probably riddled with STDs. I hated her. I _hated her._ I had to look away, ripping my eyes from the sight and burying my face in Undertaker's chest, my own pitifully trying to suck in air past the gaping hole where my heart should have been. I could not break, not here, not ever. I had to get rid of her. I wanted her dead, gone, never to be fucking found.

"Take me home," I whimpered, tears smearing across the shirt that belonged to my father, although I was thankful that it no longer held his scent, but smelled of Undertaker.

The world seemed to be frozen in time, and yet speeding by in a swirling haze of bright lights and darkness. I wasn't sure how I had gotten into his truck, nor how long it had taken to get home. The seat beneath me was nonexistent, my entire body numb as though I were a cloud and had no corporeal form. I couldn't remember the feeling of the road beneath the tires, nor the roaring of the truck; everything was a blur of hurt and tears. Barely coming to my senses as the Undertaker was helping me from the car, I stumbled, my weak fingers clawing at the fabric of the dress. I didn't want to wear it, this reminder of ultimate betrayal clinging to my skin and suffocating me. His strong hands were a small comfort as he led me inside of the house, careful not to bruise me in a strong hold, yet preventing me from falling. I didn't want to be here in this house full of him; I didn't want to see my father or smell the sickening stench of her lavender lotion clinging to him. Unaware of my surroundings until the scent of my room washed over me, I slowly blinked my tear-filled eyes, the darkness comforting me. My phone began to beep shrilly, signifying that my father was slowly getting ever closer to the house, as Undertaker peeled the prosthetics from my skin, stripping me down to nothing. I fell back onto my bed, curling into a small ball and hiding my face in the plush pillow as the covers were pulled over me. The air displaced as Undertaker silently left, and I could hear the monstrous roar of his truck slowly fading down the street, just as my father's car pulled in. I closed my eyes tightly, hoping that he would just go straight to bed. Deep down, my fractured heart was wishing that he would come check on me.

He never did. Silence fell over the house, and I wept until exhaustion finally pulled me under.

When I woke the next day, I refused to leave my room. I put it off for as long as I could stand, until the filth on my body began making my skin crawl. I had to delete the message that I was sure the school left on the voicemail about my lack of attendance to my father, so that he would not question me, but it could wait until I was clean. While I was normally very meticulous in the way I showered, the lack of sleep and the gaping hole in my chest were draining at my energy, and I could barely manage to lift my arms up long enough to shampoo my hair once. The shower was brief, and as soon as I was moderately clean, I climbed out, refusing the comfort of the warm water. I wanted to feel the raw pain, wanted it to sear into my memory so that I would never forget the way this woman had broken me. It had to be fresh in my mind when I had her in my clutches, so that I could make her suffer as I was.

The outfit that I had put together for the day was hardly well-matched; I was wearing the largest grey sweater that I owned, practically swimming in the abundance of fabric, and a pair of torn and faded black skinny jeans, the hems dragging upon the ground. The sweater seemed to swallow me whole, and I had to push the sleeves up to my elbows if I desired the use of my hands, though they would constantly slip back down my slender arms. I hadn't bothered to blowdry or brush my hair, and several strands were standing on end, jutting out in disarray, though still appearing to be silky to the touch. The bags under my eyes were deep bruises, making it seem as though I had never slept, though the most worrisome flaw to my features were the dark splotches of burst capillaries, dotting my face at random. They stood out against my stark pale skin, and even though I didn't possess an ounce of energy, I applied a coat of concealer and foundation to my skin, hiding my flaws away. If my father decided to look upon my face, I couldn't have him noticing the damage done by my stomach violently heaving.

I trudged down the stairs, stopping momentarily to delete the voicemail without bothering to listen to it. I didn't want to hear that grating redhead's voice tearing at my eardrums. With the television on a random cartoon, the volume low to supply background noise, I flopped down onto the couch and started forming several plans. I would need Undertaker's assistance once more tonight, that much I was certain. My eyes stared blankly at the screen as my brain began making a list. I would have to prepare the attic, which shouldn't be too hard. Saran Wrap, the tarp in the basement, and a roll of duct tape were added to my mental list, as well as several other implements that I could either procure from my own house, or ask to borrow from Undertaker. I hated asking for his help as much as I had; the payment that I owed him was beginning to grow, and there weren't enough eyes in the world. I knew that money wouldn't suffice, as he seemed to have an abundance of it just lying around. Perhaps he would let me do a few jobs for him, free of charge, in exchange for everything I had asked of him. Knowing that sub-human, that wouldn't even be an option. He would probably laugh his ass off.

I couldn't keep lazing about, I needed to take inventory of the things that I did have. Rising from the sofa, I made my way to the basement, stomping down the stairs and looking around the room, until I spotted the bright blue tarp, rolled up and stowed away beneath the staircase. I wasn't yet going to transfer it to the attic, on the off chance that my father decided to go in there before he left for his business trip. Once I was back on the main floor, I walked into the kitchen, immediately walking over to a cabinet and counting the rolls of Saran Wrap. I couldn't very well use all of it, as my father would realise it was missing, since he used it quite frequently to wrap leftovers. Although, perhaps I could use that to my advantage, make him think that he had run out or had forgotten to pick some up at the store. I certainly never used the cling wrap, so he would have no reason to accuse me of anything. Nodding to myself, I shut the cabinet and began pulling open drawers, my eyes falling on the assortment of knives, one in particular catching my interest. Perhaps that one could be used in a finale of sorts. A malicious idea formed in my head, one that brought a vicious smirk to my face. As I moved further down, a small scrap of paper caught my eye, and I slowly approached it. Picking it up, I read over the few words it contained.

_I'll be back. -U_

I was certain that Undertaker hadn't left it there last night, as my father surely would have discovered it. This meant that he had been here sometime today, before I had found the motivation to leave my room. Shoving the note into my back pocket, I released an annoyed sigh. That prick, breaking into my house. I suppose I couldn't be too angry, as I wouldn't have to find a way to contact him. Instead, I focused on my plans, hoping that Undertaker would have what I needed stowed away in the covered bed of his truck. I continued my search of the cabinets and drawers, taking mental note of everything I had, and everything I would need. The sound of heavy thudding coming down the stairs made me pause, and I glanced out of the window, humming slightly in thought. He must have arrived while I had been in the basement.

"So fucking heavy," my father grunted as he reached the bottom of the stairs, one final bang resounding throughout the house. I shut the cabinets delicately, stifling a sigh as I walked over to the fridge, pulling the door open and staring blankly inside, as if I were searching for a snack.

I was going to ignore him; I still couldn't look at him without wanting to vomit. Images flashed through my head, streetlights shining above and illuminating the writhing bodies on the hood of a red car, soft breathy sounds hitting my ears. My stomach rolled, and I banished the thoughts entirely; I refused to be sick anymore. It wasn't my father that disgusted me; he was a perfectly functioning human male, of course. It was the lewd display, the horridly plain succubus that sickened me so fully that I could barely stand. I was certainly going to fix that. When one found a rat, you fucking eradicated the entire nest.

"I'll be leaving now. If you decide to party like a wild animal, do try to keep the house as orderly as possible." I was once again pulled from my thoughts as my father laughed awkwardly, and I could feel a sneer curling my lips.

He didn't seem to know me at all. Surely it was a joke; me, the studious, friendless student, throwing a fucking party? Wasn't that _hilarious._ Schooling my features as best as I could, I forced the animalistic curl of my lips into a smile, before I shut the refrigerator and turn to walk toward my father. I keep my voice light and innocent as I respond, "I hope you have a good trip, Daddy." I make my smile grow until I am beaming as best as I can, forcing a hollow giggle from my voicebox, as if I found his joke to be funny. "I'll try not to destroy the house." Certainly not the whole house. _Just the attic._

My father gives me the most wondrous smile, one that makes the shattered remains of my heart flutter, threatening to sew themselves back together. I can feel that inner hope crumble as he widens his eyes, a sudden thought striking him. "Oh! Before I leave, you and I need to have a serious talk." Furrowing his brows slightly, he looks down upon me with a strict expression.

 _Fuck._ Does he know? Did I leave some sort of evidence out in the open? Had he seen me last night and, against all possibility, recognized me through the heavy prosthetics? My own eyes widen to the size of saucers, a stricken look overtaking my features as my smile disintigrates. "Am I in trouble, Daddy?" I clasp my hands together in front of me, staring up at him and doing my best to appear contrite.

"You are," he states firmly as his hands come to rest on his hips. I watch as his eyes roll up to the ceiling, gesturing upwards as if I would immediately know why. All I could think of was if he had discovered my plans for the attic. But how would he have? I never wrote anything down, everything was locked safely away in my head, and my father was no mind reader. "Care to explain why you put those clothes in a garbage bag in the attic?"

"Well, I," I started, my mind floundering as sheer panic washed over me. _Keep your head, Ciel Phantomhive._ All I had to do was come up with a convincing reason why. I wouldn't let him delve too deep. Biting into my bottom lip as my eyes welled up, a film of tears making them shine brightly. I keep them at bay, which I don't find to be too hard as the tears are faux. I take a deep breath before I spit out the first excuse my brain comes up with on the fly. "I was trying to do my laundry, and... I accidentally dropped the jug of bleach into the washer." My voice wavered, and I dropped my chin to my chest, hiding my face behind my fringe. "I didn't want you to be mad! So... I hid them." Keep it simple and sweet; the more detailing to the lies, the less believable it would be, the easier it would be to get caught if you forgot a fatal detail.

My father's voice softened, and I could hear the sound of his hair shifting as he nodded his head. "I understand; accidents happen." With eyes trained on the floor, I could see his foot come into view as he moved closer to me, and the shock of his index finger hooking underneath my chin nearly made me jump out of my skin. He tilted my head back, coaxing me to look at him, and as I stared up into his sanguine eyes, I could see the empathy swirling in their depths. The pain of my chest eased, the raw edges attempting to draw back together as my heart gave a little flutter. "But try to be more careful in the future, okay? Those were some of your best clothes, and they weren't cheap. I'll let it slide, but I can't afford to buy you new clothes every time an accident happens."

My bottom lip trembled, and a small amount of guilt pierced through me. I had ruined two outfits that he had gotten for me, very expensive clothing that he could barely afford. I was sure to ruin a few more of my outfits with what was to come. I would have to figure out a way to give him some of the money I had without his suspicion rising. For now, I would replace whatever outfits I damaged, so that he would no longer have to worry about keeping clothes on my back. I fling myself into him, throwing my arms around his torso and nuzzling my face into his chest. "I'm sorry Daddy, I'll never let it happen again." My fingers curl and tangle in the back of his shirt, clinging for dear life, never wanting to let go. I was so blissfully happy that he had talked to me, even if only to scold me. I loved him, loved him more than I could ever love a single thing. I could feel my heart mending in my chest, though I would not forget that pain. "I'll miss you while you're gone," I whispered, trying to prevent my voice from breaking. I didn't want him to go, I wanted him to stay, for everything to go back to normal.

His arms wrap around me, one of his hands patting my back gently before he squeezes me tightly. "I'll miss you too. I'll be back Sunday. If you need anything, I'm just a phone call away, all right? I'll call every once in a while to check in on you."

As much as I would love to call him, I knew that I would be too busy dealing with a particularly disgusting rat. I would, however, make sure to answer every single call that he gave me. Nothing was more important than him. I looked up at his face, my eyes tracing the familiar angles of his face, and I could feel my lips pulling back into a genuinely bright smile. I removed my arms from him, instead curling them around myself as a small comfort, wishing I never had to let him go. "Okay, Daddy. Remember to enjoy yourself and have fun."

My father took a step back as he straightened up, his watch giving a small beep. He glances down at it, taking in the time. "Gotta go." He suddenly curled an arm around my waist, pulling me to him, shock coursing through me. As his lips descended upon my forehead, happiness bloomed within me and made me lightheaded. "I love you. Behave yourself."

"I love you too, Daddy. I'll be good." I closed my eyes tightly, relishing in the gesture of affection before drawing in a deep, silent breath, and I pull away from him. With a smile, I place my hands on his back and start pushing him toward the door. "Don't be late. I'll see you Sunday."

I watch him as he grabs his suitcase and gives me a final wave and a smile, striding out of the house. The door shut, and I was left staring at the empty space, the sound of his car starting up and driving away fading into silence. I wasn't going to waste any time, as Undertaker could show up at the most inopportune moment, and I wanted everything to be ready. After lugging the tarp all the way up to the attic, I spread it out completely, making sure to cover the entirety of the floor. Hopefully my father wouldn't need this before I could replace it. I taped it into place, using an entire roll of duct tape to ensure that it wouldn't budge. I grabbed every bit of Saran Wrap that we owned, and began wrapping it around all of the junk in the attic to protect it, covering the walls with it, and securing some over top of the tarp. I set a metal folding chair in the center of the open space, not bothering to cover it as it could be easily cleaned, and a few feet away I placed a tv tray. Seeing as how we never used them, and they were locked away in the attic, I was sure this one wouldn't be missed. On top of that lay a metal tray, which was currently empty.

Taking a step back, I admired my handiwork, dusting my hands off with a content sigh. Doing things meticulously always set me at ease. Another thought popped into my head; the bag of bleached clothing, which my father had found. I could no longer use the attic as a hiding place, it seemed. Even though my father had discovered the clothing, I still needed to hide them, in case DNA traces could still be found in the fabric. I grabbed onto the trash bag, stomping down the attic stairs and into my room. Years earlier, I had found a secret crawl space hidden within my closet. It blended in seamlessly into the floor, and anyone who was not so observant to detail would miss it. I opened my closet door, kneeling down and shoving my clothing and shoes out of the way. Nails dug into where carpeting met wall, easily lifting and peeling back the layer of carpet to expose wooden floorboards. The funny thing about my room was that the carpet in my bedroom was attached to the floor, but the part in the closet was not. If you leaned against the wall and slide your feet along it, you would essentially push it up, and it would stop in the door way where there was glue.

Slipping a thin strip of metal into a sliver of a crack, I began slowly easing up the chunk of wood, the filthy crawl space meeting my eyes. I couldn't believe I had forgotten about it; I could have been storing everything here without a chance of it ever being found. That is exactly what I intended to do now. I was not going to allow any more close calls with my father. First, I set the bag of bleached clothing into the space, shoving it as far back as my short arm could reach, before I began gathering my makeup, prosthetics equipment, female clothing, and anything else I deemed worthy of keeping hidden. After I had filled the hole, I gently placed the wood back into its spot, laying the metal strip atop it before rolling the carpet back down. I stood up, my knees aching from having my weight on them for too long, and began reorganizing my shoes, making sure to have them neatly lined in rows.

I had to change quickly, as I had a feeling that Undertaker would be here to collect me soon. I stripped down to nothing, pulling on black spandex, as it was the least likely to leave any fibers behind. The shoes I wore were several sizes too big, weighted down in the front so that if I were to leave a footprint, it would have equal weight distribution. Black leather gloves came next, followed by a black hat to keep my hair hidden. I slid a black sweater on to keep me warm, and just as the sun descended beyond the horizon, a loud knock sounded on the front door.

I held out my phone to Undertaker, showing him the picture that I had secured of Elizabeth's ID. Tapping the address with my index finger, I stared directly into his eyes with determination. "We go here." I set my jaw, oozing pure confidence. I was almost too embarrassed about the state he had seen me in yesterday, but I refused to apologise for it, or even acknowledge that it had ever happened. The bastard got an expensive bottle of wine out of it. As we climbed into his truck and peeled off down the road, a wicked smirk curled my lips. "I hope you have some toys for me to play with."

* * *

I had been doing a bit of research on Elizabeth while I waited in the darkness for her to return home. She was quite young, much too young for my father, as females tended to lack intelligence at young ages. She still lived with her parents, and her father was away for the weekend, her mother already in bed. The bitch normally worked late into the night, or during early mornings, depending on the day. The previous night, she had switched shifts with one of her coworkers so that she could meet my father for dinner. I expected her to arrive to her house roughly around 12:30, 1 in the morning, based on what time she got out of work and the distance between the two places. I still had a hard time believing that my father had picked up this brain dead trollop. She had barely graduated high school with C's and D's, and she hadn't even attended college, nor done a single thing to better her life. She lived with her fucking parents at 22, for fuck's sake. Annoyance at even having to deal with this retarded whale of a girl was starting to grate on my nerves. It would be too fucking easy to dispose of her, hardly worth the effort.

Headlights lit up the street, drawing my focus back to the task at hand, and her red car slowly turned into the drive. She put her car into park and shut it off as I lifted up a handkerchief and generously coated it in chloroform. I waited in the bush, crouched low as I watched her pull out her phone through the window, the screen eerily lighting up her face. I saw a flirtatious smile curl her lips as she began to type a message, and I knew without a doubt that she was about to text my father. Intuition hit me in the stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I couldn't allow her to send it, couldn't have her keep stringing my father along. The darkness cloaked me as I moved from my spot, sprinting over to her car and ripping the door open. Not giving her any time to move or scream, I covered her mouth and nose with the cloth, forcing her to breathe nothing but the chloroform. She gave a muffled, weak whimper, her phone slipping from her clutches as she faded into unconsciousness. Lifting the cell up, I read the message, anger burning at my veins as I saw my father's name at the top of the screen. I deleted what she had written, immediately replacing it with _I dont think its gonna work :( sorryyyyyy_ and hitting send. I shut her phone off, dropping it uselessly onto the passenger seat, along with her keys, before I grabbed onto her and pulled her out of the car. I let her fall pathetically onto the ground, her face getting scraped up roughly by the concrete, my weighted foot shooting out and catching her harshly in the stomach. She groaned but didn't wake, and I gave a satisfied smile, taking hold of her arms and dragging her along the ground to where Undertaker was waiting.

"This cow is heavy, will you please load her up?" His soft laughter was the only answer he gave as he lifted her over his shoulder and threw her into the truck bed.

I locked her car door from the inside, pausing when I saw a large bottle of that dreaded lavender lotion. It might come of use to me, so I took it, shutting the door and darting off to his truck. I was feeling lighter than I had in days, and in celebration of a successful step one, we broke into the bottle of wine, the sound of laughter filling the cab as we drove off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/N: I hope this chapter was well worth the wait, little doves. I worked myself to the bone on trying to finish it within the time constraints that I set for myself after not having time for more than a month. Again, I apologise for the length of time it took for it to be delivered into your hands, but I appreciate everyone for waiting and remaining loyal and supportive to the story. I love you all.  
> Kit, you are fucking amazing. Thank you for all of your help in brainstorming, keeping me motivated, and for editing this massive chapter. In a world without you, "booby pins" would exist. I absolutely love you, Kitten.  
> Leave us plenty of comments, little doves! I can't wait to hear your thoughts.  
> Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy


	7. Spurned Sebastian

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I glanced up at the vintage clock on the wall, watching as the second hand ticked past the golden Roman numerals. Orange flames crackled in the fireplace, filling the room with the scent of scorched cedar, and sending a radiating warmth and illuminating glow through the parlor. Swallowing, I nervously tugged on my silk tie, beads of sweat forming across my neckline as my body started to overheat. I repositioned myself, letting out a grunt of displeasure when I felt my perspiration-coated skin shift under my suit. I dared to pull on my tie again, though I didn't want to loosen it too much for the fear of appearing too casual.

Exhaling once again, I glanced down at the sweating glass in my palm, water droplets dripping and ice cubes clinking against the cup. Inside was a very expensive, very rich wine, one that I was almost scared to drink, for if I recalled correctly, a single bottle of it cost about the same as my monthly morgage. Plus, in all honesty, I was never a huge lover of wine.

Hearing movement in the next room over, I straightened my posture, clearing my throat in preparation. I could feel my heart shoot into my gullet, thumping and thrumming against my esophagus in trepidation as the polished mahogany door slowly creaked open, a slender figure stepping through the threshold.

My mouth fell open, pants instantly straining around my groin as my eyes soaked in the sight of her lingerie. It was all lace, and entirely see through. The embroidery hugged every curve of her body, the pale, seafoam green fabric making her creamy skin positively glow.

"Sebastian," Elizabeth purred, her manicured hands teasingly caressing her smooth thighs.

"E-Elizabeth," I stuttered, gulping down a lump of bile as my heart fluttered and squeezed, the rapid palpitations nearly making me light-headed. Elizabeth smirked at my reaction, surely sensing my anxiety, and she began sauntering over to me seductively, making me gasp as she crawled into my lap, my body sinking further into the velvet loveseat with her extra weight. Pushing on my chest, she forced me to lie down, the glass slipping out of my hand and splashing dark wine all over the plush, white carpet.

"Oh! I-I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, my torso starting to recline up as I attempted to assess the damage. Giggling, Elizabeth shoved me back down once more, compressing my back into the cushions as she began to crawl on top of me.

"Forget it," she dismissed, her glittering emeralds staring into my eyes passionately. "The maid will clean it up."

"But it'll stain..." I insisted, surprisingly ignoring the fact that she had a regular maid who tidied up her home.

"Fuck me," Elizabeth whispered, her fingers slowly beginning to loosen my tie before they focused on the buttons of my dress shirt.

"I-I don't have a condom," I confessed, and I was met with hungry green eyes while her hands ripped my dress shirt open, making me jolt in surprise.

"I don't care," she breathed, her soft digits roaming over my bare chest, causing me shivers. "I want you."

Licking my lips, I reached my hand up, tangling my fingers through her hair and forcing her head down, our lips crushing together. Elizabeth moaned softly, her tongue darting out to flick against my teeth and slither into my mouth. Our wet muscles curl around one another, my fingers tightening their grip on her locks while my other hand wanders down to her shoulders, easily brushing the straps of her bustier down her arms. I began to tug her top down, eager to expose her breasts to my lustful eyes. Letting out a deep exhale through my nostrils, I nervously gazed up at Elizabeth's face as I broke the kiss. "E-Elizabeth, I just want you to know that I l-"

A sudden bang made my motions freeze and Elizabeth shriek, her body instinctively molding to mine for comfort. I wrapped my arms around her protectively as I began to sit up, my eyes flickering over to the door. Rapid, repetitive blows to the wood made the hinges creak and the handle rattle, Elizabeth's whimpering growing louder each time the door was struck.

"He's coming to get me," she sobbed, her emeralds glittering with tears as her shaking hands gripped tighter to me, nails digging into the flesh on my shoulders while her cheek presses to my chest. "He's going to kill me."

My pupils dilated, my sanguine irises staring into hers, their color darkening with fear. "Who's going to kill you, Elizabeth?"

"He's going to kill me!" Elizabeth screamed at the top of her lungs, completely avoiding my question as terrified tears began to stream down her face.

The hinges of the door began to groan in exertion, every pound to the mahogany becoming harder and faster, sounding as if a body was slamming into the wood with a fiery determination. Panicking, I grasped Elizabeth's arms and shook her, my eyes now filled with urgency. "Tell me who's trying to kill you, Elizabeth! I won't let anyone harm you, just tell me who the fuck it is!"

Her pupils suddenly shrunk in pure terror, all of the color draining from her face, and I watched in confusion and horror as she cupped a hand over her eye, letting out a bloodcurdling scream. "Sebastian!"

"Elizabeth! What's wrong?!" I frantically tried to pry her hand away to assess for damage, but she refused to budge, her shrieking sobs only growing louder.

"Sebastian! Sebastian, help me!"

My head started to spin, vision blurring as I clutched at my aching chest, my heart palpitating so fiercely that I feared it may explode. I swallowed a gulp of bile, my cardiovascular organ abruptly ceasing its beating once the hinges on the wood gave up, and the door flew open.

"SEBASTIAN!"

My eyelids flew open and I sucked in a deep breath, gasping as my heart thumped wildly, a cold sweat glazing over the back of my neck and dampening my hair.

I slowly sat up, my paranoid eyes scanning my surroundings. I realised that I was still in my hotel room, the docile environment making me relax a smidge. The clock on the nightstand read 9:09 A.M., and, though I seemed to have managed to get an adequate amount of sleep, I felt exhausted.

I glanced over at my phone - which had died on my way to the hotel last night, and, because I was too fatigued when I finally arrived, I immediately passed out as soon as I collapsed on the bed.

 _I should probably plug it in now, in case there's anything from Ciel._ I reached over for my phone, though a sudden bang on the door made me jump and recoil, the nightmare still too fresh in my mind.

"Yo, Sebastian! Wake up! It's not every day you get to eat breakfast in a five star hotel!"

I sighed when I heard the familiar voice of Bard, my fingers raking through my sweat-drenched locks as I tried to calm myself from the startle. "Y-yeah, I'm awake. Just a minute."

"Better hurry! We have to deal with the dictator and his brainwashing activites at ten!"

For the first time in a long while, I had no qualms with leaving my bed, and I sluggishly trudged through my hotel room as I carelessly threw my attire for the day together, grumbling to myself as I dressed in my stiff suit. There was a special place in Hell reserved for employers who forced their workers to wear suits on Saturdays; I was sure of that.

Bard blinked as I opened the door, his eyes scanning me up and down before he gave an awkward cough, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Oi, Sebastian... Listen, a good friend would tell you that you don't look bad, but... You missed a button on your shirt, and you look like shit."

I glanced down at my dress shirt, grousing when I realised he was right, and I quickly popped the loose button into its proper hole. Straightening my posture, I shuffled out of the hotel room, quietly clicking the door shut behind me. "Thanks for catching that, Bard. To show my appreciation, I'll only sever one of your testicles."

Bard chuckled underneath his breath as we entered the elevator, his finger pushing the button to the ground floor. "Someone's a bit sensitive this morning."

I huffed, tugging on my tie in irritation as I scowled. "Aren't you? It's Saturday."

Upon the reminder of the wasted weekend, Bard's expression turned grim, as well, though he chose to stay silent.

The elevator dinged once we reached our destination, the gleaming, polished doors sliding open to reveal the glamorous and lavish lobby. We strode past the reception area, slinking around various loitering guests. Turning left, we entered through two gold-embellished doors, the frosted glass hiding the beauty of the vast restaurant beyond.

"At least we'll get some good food," Bard murmured, winding through and avoiding the scattered patrons while we tried to make our way to the front. "They weren't kidding about the five stars."

My companion and I were pleasantly surprised to find that an enormous buffet stretched from one wall to the other, offering an extensive variety of food, ranging from the normal buttermilk pancakes and waffles to poached eggs, duck, and even steaming clams and oysters.

Personally, I never had any qualms with trying new things, but I didn't want to risk getting ill on a company trip, so I played it safe with pancakes, eggs, sausage, and hash browns.

Bard and I chose to eat in silence, for we were obviously extremely famished, and we shoveled our food in as if we hadn't eaten in years. I couldn't remember the last time I had pancakes that were fluffy and lighter than air, nor eggs so fresh, nor sausage so seasoned. The hash browns were crispy with a pleasant crunch, and the orange juice had a ripe sweetness that clashed wonderfully with the usual tangy taste.

"My god," I sighed, pushing away from the table and patting my mouth with my napkin before I leaned back in my chair, stomach bloated in content. "I haven't had food like that in years."

"You're tellin' me," Bard groaned, stifling a belch. "That meal almost makes it worth working on a Saturday."

I frowned, gathering my dirtied plate in my hands while I stood to my feet. _If only that were true._

 

* * *

 

Holding my arms out, I planted my feet firmly in the ground to keep myself steady, flashing a reassuring smile to the secretary. "It's okay, Diane. I promise I'll catch you."

She trembled nervously, looking back at me over her shoulder, her hands brushing stray pieces of silver hair away from her face while trepidation-filled eyes twinkled behind her thick glasses. "Y-you won't let me fall, right?"

My smile grew, and I shook my head, with a light-hearted chuckle, my muscles tensing up even further in preparation. "I promise you'll be okay. I'd never let you fall."

Diane's cheeks lit up in a deep scarlet, and she turned to face forward, her posture straightening to ready herself before she tucked her limbs in and let her body fall back.

I easily caught her in my arms, keeping a tight hold on her to assure the secretary that she was completely safe, though I wrinkled her pristine navy suit jacket in the process. I waited until she calmed down a bit before I slowly reclined her upward, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze as I set her on her feet. "Now that was easy, wasn't it?"

Turning to face me, Diane gave me a curt nod and sputtered a practically inaudible 'thank you' before she scuttled away with haste, her hands trying to conceal her rosy cheeks. I smiled as I watched the secretary walk away, utter endearment making my heart squeeze. Diane was certainly a good-hearted woman, and if I were twenty or thirty years older, I'd be lucky if I were able to call someone like her mine.

A loud clap silenced all chatter in the room and each and every one of us turned to regard our boss at the center of the room. Giving his tie a brief tug, he snapped his fingers before clearing his throat. "You all are adjourned for now. Take a walk, go to your room, relax. We will all meet for dinner at six. I expect every one of you to be there."

As groups of coworkers began to disperse, I took a glance at my watch, observing that it was already three o' clock. Throughout the entire duration of company activites, concern prodded at my innards; my phone had been dead for hours, and I'd never left Ciel alone for so long without checking in on him. Perhaps I was a bit overprotective, but it never hurt to be worried, right?

I waited for the majority of my colleagues to file out of the room before I shortly followed behind, cramming myself into the tightly packed elevator, much to my displeasure. Once the bell dinged overhead and the silver doors slid open, I bolted out of the elevator at lightning speed, giving a swift yank to my tie to loosen it and pulling my key card out from my trousers in advance as I approached my room. I slid the rectangular piece of plastic into the slot in my door, waiting for a tiny click to sound before I easily opened it and strode inside.

With a sigh, I ripped my tie off of my neck and slipped my suit jacket off of my shoulders, draping both garments onto the back of a chair carefully. I nonchalantly ripped my dress shirt out of my trousers and exhaled in relief, my fingers raking through my inky locks as I treaded over toward the bed.

I pulled my suitcase out from underneath the mattress, my slender digits quickly unzipping it and digging around in my belongings before they curled around a thin black cord, pulling it out from its confines. Grabbing my previously discarded phone off of the nightstand, I slid one end of the cord into my phone before I plugged the other into the wall. While I waited for my phone to automatically turn on, I plopped down on the side of my bed, groaning as I started to stretch my fatigued upper muscles.

A chime alerted me of the cellular waking, and I gently grasped onto my device, immediately checking to see if there were any missed calls from Ciel. As soon as my call log opened, however, a notification of a new text message from Elizabeth popped up on the screen, and my face instantly lit up with an ecstatic beam. I clicked on it hastily, though my smile fell into a confused frown, my complexion draining of all color as I read it.

_I dont think its gonna work :( sorryyyyyy_

Weakness suddenly hit me, my phone nearly slipping out of my hands and my chest squeezing painfully, heart practically breaking in two. What had I done? Was it something I said? Was it due to us not speaking with each other for a couple days? Perhaps my age? Does she find me unattractive? Did I freak her out with my odd reaction at dinner?

"Fuck, I'm such a fucking idiot!" I practically threw my phone to the ground with a frustrated huff, self-loathing surging through my entire being and burrowing in my bones. "She sent that last night," I whispered, hoping that if I explained everything to myself out loud, all of the pieces would fall into place. "Why last night? What did I do?"

I scrambled to pick up my phone, my clumsy and shaky fingers dialing her number and calling it as fast as humanly possible. Almost instantly, her voicemail came on without a single ring, informing me that her phone was off.

"Hi, you've reached Elizabeth. I'm not available right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back with you."

"Can't we talk about this?" I blurted out, my hand tangling in my hair and gripping my locks forcefully. "Look, if it's my age, I get it. I'm not the youngest man, I know, but I swear I'll do anything to make this work. You honestly have no clue how happy you made me the other night. Please, _please_ call me back."

My stomach started to churn unpleasantly in panic, and I rose from the bed, pacing back and forth to try to settle my nerves. Tears threatened to prick at my eyes, though I kept them at bay, hopefully awaiting a call back from Elizabeth. Minutes passed, however, and in utter desperation, I left more and more messages.

"Elizabeth, _please._ At least tell me what I've done to vex you. I deserve an explanation before you just leave me."

"Elizabeth, come on. I'm serious. Don't act like this. Just talk to me."

"I'm very sorry if I scared you at dinner; I promise it won't ever happen again. I don't usually behave that way. Please, Lizzie."

After my tenth or so message, I started feeling at a loss, and my control was slipping away with each passing second.

"Hi, this is Eliza-"

"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE?!"

I slammed my cellular down, hitting the 'end call' button as tears began to stream down my cheeks, my eyelids squeezed shut tight in sorrow while my knuckles clenched white in frustration. It was no use. She wasn't going to return my call.

I fell back onto my bed, my spine hitting the mattress with a small creak, my sanguine eyes darkened to a ruddy crimson beneath the many layers of tears, the salty fluid leaving trails down my face and dripping onto my shirt collar.

Was I really that incompetent of a man? After all, I couldn't make a healthy relationship work with the mother of my son, and now I couldn't keep a girl interested after one measly date.

"Piece of shit," I muttered to myself, my large hands coming up to wipe away the multiple tear tracks, smearing them down my cheekbones until they dried. I forced myself to reestablish my pride and use the last of my strength to help me sit up and get back on my feet. Carelessly ripping my phone off of its charger, I stuffed the cell into my trouser pocket before I trudged over to the door and threw it open, shuffling out of my room and down the quiet corridor. I crammed my hands into my pant's pockets as I watched the room numbers go by, glassy eyes regarding each plain, identical door with an uninterested expression.

I continued walking until I came to room 1004, where I promptly stopped and rapped my knuckles against the dark wood. It was a few minutes before the door slowly opened and revealed my blond, disheveled appearing friend, a half finished bottle of beer in his hand and a cigarette between his lips.

"Sebastian?" Bard asked, scratching his head with his free hand while he looked me up and down with large, surprised eyes. "Whatcha need?"

Slowly blinking my already bloodshot orbs, I answered lowly, my voice cold and hard as stone. "She doesn't want to see me anymore."

Bard's brows furrowed momentarily in confusion, his fingers clutching the neck of the glass bottle tighter as realisation eventually began to sink in. "Erm.. Elizabeth was her name, right?"

I silently nodded, clearing my throat awkwardly to prevent fresh tears from welling up in my eyes while I bowed my head pitifully. Giving me a sympathetic glance, Bard stepped out of the doorway and beckoned me inside of his room, his index and middle fingers coming up to perch on his cigarette as he took a long drag. "Come on in. Don't mind the ripe smell of lung cancer."

I chuckled at his comment, though it was void of true emotion, and I compliantly scuttled into his hotel room, allowing him to shut the door behind me. Stretching my arms over my head, I observed my surroundings, noting the spacious though clearly slept in bed, my eyes floating from the mattress over to the large flat screen that was currently displaying a toothpaste commercial. Two chairs seemed to be comfortably placed directly in front of the TV, separated only by a small side table.

My friend let out a groan as he plopped down in one of the chairs, one hand gesturing for me to sit in the opposite seat while his other harshly stabbed the butt of his cigarette out in the ashtray that resided on the table. "Might as well make yourself comfortable. There's beer in the mini fridge over there," Bard said, jutting his thumb toward the right.

Blinking in surprise, I followed the direction of his finger and treaded over to the mini fridge, bending over as I pulled the tiny door open. "They included beer in your fridge? All I received were various fruits and bottles of juice."

"Fuck no," Bard blurted out, his nose wrinkling up. "I brought beer with me. There's no way I'd go through with company exercises completely sober."

My lips dared to curl upwards in a small smile while I pulled a few bottles of beer out of the tiny cooler, cradling them in my arms as I nudged the door shut. I walked over to the empty chair next to Bard's, allowing myself to fall into the seat, my body instantly sinking down in the soft leather. I set the extra bottles of liquor on the table while I took one in my hand, expertly cracking it open and immediately bringing the cold glass up to my mouth, my lips promptly wrapping around the opening and taking a large swig of the alcohol.

Bard watched me as I drank, his fingers fumbling across the surface of the side table before they found his pack of cigarettes, his digits swiftly sliding one out, then offering the carton to me. "Cig?"

I continued to guzzle down my beer for a few moments before I permitted my lungs to suck in air, my expression going blank in consideration. "I haven't had a cigarette in years. Not since Rachael made me quit."

Bard pulled a second cigarette out and insistently pushed it into my free hand. "Have one, then. You're a free bird now."

The truthfulness of his words made my chest clench up in hurt, my heart aching as the proclamation pierced through me. Tears began to flood my eyes at an uncontrollable rate, making my vision blur drastically. I forced the cigarette between my lips and frantically fumbled for Bard's lighter, a sigh of relief leaving me once I had it lit and the familiar taste of tobacco tickled my tongue.

My friend and I stayed silent for quite a while, letting ourselves drown in liquor and bask in the thick clouds of smoke that hung over our heads. For now, I had managed to keep my tears in, though they consistently begged to be released; my pride was still too strong at the moment.

Bard cleared his throat, signaling that he was getting ready to approach the elephant in the room, his eyes remaining on me the entire time. "Sebastian, I know this is difficult for you; you seemed to really like this girl, but- erm..." He trailed off momentarily, scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly. "You only had one date with her. Did you even truly know the girl?"

"You don't get it." My tears immediately spilled from my eyes, sobs involuntarily getting stuck in my throat and choking me up as I croaked my words. "I feel like a total piece of shit. It's not just because of Elizabeth; I couldn't even make it work with the mother of my son. I'm completely fucking useless. I break every bond I make. I try so hard to make people happy and I fail every time. I don't understand what's wrong with me, why I'm such a fucked up person."

"Sebastian, don't say shit like that. You know Rachael was cra-"

"No!" I cut him off, shaking my head as I cried in despair. "It's all my fault! I couldn't make her happy because I can't make anyone happy! I can't do anything right no matter how hard I try! Even my own son probably hates me. I struggle to pay for his clothing and violin lessons; how the hell will I ever send him to college and give him the education he deserves?" My eyes squeezed shut tight as absolute misery settled over me, making my sobs turn into whimpers. "I'm a piece of shit father and a failure as an individual."

Bard frowned, permitting me to sob my heart out as he remained silent, knowing that even making an attempt to speak up was utterly fruitless. Salty droplets rolled off of my chin and soaked into my trousers, speckling the dark fabric. I could already feel my vocal chords start to strain and give out, my mouth going completely dry thanks to my bawling.

After breaking down for a while, my consistent flow of tears started to slow and whimpers no longer stayed trapped inside of my throat; instead, they were replaced with small sniffles. My large hands came up to cover my face, digits bending as they smeared the excessive tears away.

"Fuck, what kind of man am I," I whispered to myself, letting out an unamused laugh to prevent more tears from falling. "Blubbering like an idiot over nothing."

"A normal one," my friend promptly answered, letting out a long, smoke tainted exhale. "Don't let those arrogant meatheads fool you; every man cries. Hell, do you honestly think I haven't shed a tear since Mey and I have had our problems?" He scoffed to himself, his brows furrowing as his expression turned solemn. "When you love a woman like that, it's hard not to cry."

"I know what you mean," I cleared my hoarse throat, quickly flicking the grey chars of my forgotten cigarette into the ashtray. "I'm aware that Rachael had... problems, but that doesn't mean I loved her any less. And even though it wasn't entirely my fault, I still feel guilty for not being there when she was pregnant."

The room settled into another moment of silence, the only sound being the quiet murr of the television. I took one more drag off of my cigarette before I discarded it into the tray, my hands deciding to turn their attention back to my beer.

I chugged down the liquor while Bard clicked onto a different channel, the familiar jingle of the local news station filling the speakers in a greeting.

"I hate watching this shit," Bardroy muttered under his breath, talking over the anchor. "But I guess it'd be nice to know how the weather will be tomorrow."

I nodded in agreement, my cloudy vision fixing on the flat screen as I took a final sip of my beer, setting the empty bottle down on the side table.

Panning in, the camera revealed the familiar visage of Kimberly Johnson, wearing an olive green suit with her golden hair pinned up in a tight bun.

"Good afternoon, I'm Kimberly Johnson, and welcome to the news. We'll be starting with a tragic segment depicting the act of pure cruelty; early this morning, a family dog was discovered poisoned at the corner of Kennedy and Alpine."

My eyebrows instantly shot up along with Bard's, who looked at me in questioning. "Isn't that just a few houses down from yours?"

Speechless, I nodded, reaching down beside me to grab another beer bottle while Bard hastily turned the volume up. The picture suddenly changed to a man in uniform standing in front of the familiar yellow house, the words "Lieutenant Claude Faustus" scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"The family is quite overwhelmed at this point in time," the lieutenant spoke, adjusting his glasses while his golden eyes gleamed behind them. "The couple's children found the dog lying dead in the grass this morning, and upon further investigation we found large amounts of theobromine in the dog's system. As of now, we can't confirm if this was merely an accident or an intended demonstration of inhumanity, but we advise all pet owners to keep their pets inside at night to prevent any further incidents from happening."

My companion and I sat in a flabbergasted silence, our mouths hanging open and our eyes as big as the moon.

Bard was the first to speak, though it took him a while to form words. "Wow. Who could do something like that?"

My voice came out as a rasp, one of my hands raking through my inky locks in disbelief. "Presuming it wasn't an accident, only the most vile of human beings."

Bardroy furrowed his brows at my comment, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he mulled over my response. "Right, presuming it wasn't an accident. Hell, even the kids that found the dog could've been the ones who killed him, with or without knowing the consequences of their actions."

I nodded slowly. "Hopefully it was just an accident. You saw how a police lieutenant was explaining the situation; these things never happen in a quiet town."

"First those kiddos in the suicide pact, now this." Bard groaned, leaning forward in his chair and reaching under the recliner. "This town will go to shit if hoodlums continue to cause trouble."

I cocked a brow as I watched him feel under his chair, before his fingers latched onto a small bag and pulled it out into view. My eyes widened as he set the plastic bag onto the table, pupils peering through the clear sack in shock. "Bardroy, you..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a worthless nit. But they took away my Saturday," Bard mumbled, opening the bag and pulling out one of the many long blunts that were nestled inside.

"You're seriously going to get high in this hotel room? We have to meet with the entire company for dinner in an hour!"

"Eh, fuck it all, Sebastian. Do you really want to subject yourself to the dull, monotone lectures that our boss loves to give us? I'm done with this trip, I'm done with this company, and I'm going to get stoned. Worst case scenario, I'll lose my job. And I'd rather serve burgers at the rat-infested joint down the street, anyway."

A brief look of disappointment flickered across my features, though I continued to stare at the bag in consideration. Really, what was there to lose? I no longer had a chance with Elizabeth, and, although I have a son to support, this job clearly wasn't paying well enough, anyway. I still struggled to pay my monthly bills, not to mention the cash I had to set away for Ciel's expanding interests and various school supplies. Perhaps a fast food establishment would have more to offer, as Bard had said.

"Fuck it," I finally spoke up, shoving my hand inside the bag and grabbing one of the rolled joints. I gestured to Bard for his lighter, and he flashed me a goofy grin, handing it over compliantly.

For the next hour, we proceeded to drink and get high, laughing and joking the whole time as if we were still immature boys in high school. The simple conversations brought back many good memories, and I savored every minute of relaxation. At that moment, I had no responsibilities, I had no worries. I was just a middle aged man, who at the time, felt like he could accomplish anything.

 

* * *

 

"I feel like shit," I murmured to Bard, our bloodshot eyes locking with one another, both of us appearing quite pitiful. It seemed that I had failed to remember all the old times that the alcohol and marijuana hadn't mixed quite well, and that I had become miserably sick at some points. It seemed that Bard had forgotten these facts, as well.

"Michaelis," my boss spoke smoothly, his head slightly cocked as he peered at me with mild concern. "Neither Bardroy nor yourself have touched your dinners. Is the meal unappealing?"

"No," I said lowly, my gaze rising to regard my numerous coworkers, watching as they all gratefully tore into their steaks and chowed down on the mashed potatoes drenched in gravy. The sight made me want to puke.

"Why is it that you haven't eaten then, hm? Surely you two men aren't vegetarians."

"We're car sick," Bard offered, and I shot him a death glare, the expression practically voicing my thoughts. _Car sick? That was the only excuse you could think of?!_

The lie resulted in our boss becoming even more puzzled, and he leaned forward in interest, lacing his fingers together. "Is that so? Did you two go for a ride during your break?"

"Yes," I quickly answered, trying to sound logical though not wanting to reveal too much. "We drove around for a while."

"Oh, I see. That's all? You didn't stop anywhere?"

"We stopped to get food," Bard chimed in with a goofy smile, and I kicked him under the table in scolding. "Ow!" He exclaimed, glancing at me. "What was that for?!"

At this point, our colleagues had paused their eating to stare at us, curious gazes focused in our direction. Our boss' orbs visibly darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly while his lips started to twitch in a scowl.

Reclining even further forward, he licked his pursed lips before he spoke, his tone hard and eerily even. "So, let me get his straight: I dismissed you earlier, with the announcement that we'd all gather for dinner here at six. You two then promptly went for a drive, and stopped for food before you came back here and joined us for dinner. Is that right?"

Bard, finally realising his mistakes, lowered his head in defeat, though he stared at me pleadingly from the corner of his eye. I swallowed uneasily, before I nodded curtly, flinching a bit as I wrongly confessed. "Yes, Sir. I'm afraid we were starving and just couldn't wait any longer."

The man's irises darkened once more, his pupils dilating in what seemed to be brewing rage, and he clenched his large fists, hissing through his teeth calmly. "I see. Well then, feel free to waste your costly meals, gentlemen."

We both cringed at his words, for they made guilt pierce right through us, which was the intended effect, I'm sure. I gulped, my mouth feeling utterly dry from my nervousness and I suddenly lurched forward, pushing away from the table clumsily as I scrambled to my feet. "E-excuse me, I need to go call my son."

My skin prickled from the many eyes staring at my back as I briskly strode away, trying to escape the tense situation as fast as possible. I refused to even breathe until I was free from everyone's probing eyes, and I sucked in a mouthful of air once I exited the restaurant and entered the quiet lobby of the hotel. Scanning the area, I noticed that, for the moment, I was completely alone; even the reception desk seemed to be unattended.

I hummed in approval as I leaned against a wall, permitting myself a few minutes to calm down before I rummaged around in my trouser pocket, my slender digits curling around my phone and lifting it up until it was directly in front of my face. I speedily dialed Ciel's number, my lips pursing slightly as I began to softly whistle, and my pupils continuing to float around my surroundings. I waited as the phone rang and rang, my nonchalant appearance slowly starting to become more tense and concerned the longer it went without an answer. Never had Ciel missed one of my calls, so as soon as the voicemail came on, my brows furrowed in worry. I ended the call, lowering my phone so my eyes could study the time.

 _It's nearly seven; surely he wouldn't be in bed this early on a Saturday night._ Clearing my throat, I proceeded to dial his number again, this time listening to each ring intently, as if he would answer at any moment. Again, however, it went to his voicemail.

I chose not to leave a message, though I shot him a quick text, hoping that, in the case he was busy, he would have a easier time responding to a text rather than a call.

_Hey Ciel, is everything all right? I'm not trying to be overprotective, just checking on you. You know you can call if you need anything. Love you._

I sighed as I sent the message, my hand carelessly stuffing the phone back into my pocket. As much as I dreaded it, I'd probably have to go back into the restaurant to face my boss and all my nosy coworkers once again. Thankfully, the ill sensation I had in my gut had temporarily subsided, for my stomach was now churning with worry for Ciel.

"You already fucked up your chance at being responsible tonight," I muttered to myself as my fingers wrapped around the gold handle of the restaurant's door. "So just pretend you didn't."

 

* * *

 

"You are a fucking bastard, you know that?" Bard growled, his knuckles shamelessly punching in the elevator button.

I frowned as the chrome doors slid shut, the elevator shuddering as it lurched upward. _"I'm_ the bastard? You put me in a pretty difficult spot there, Bard. Car sick? We went to go get food? _Really?"_

"You know I've never been an intelligent drunkard," Bard murmured, crossing his arms across his chest like a pouting child.

"Yeah, well now I'm starting to remember why I got into so much trouble when I got fucked up with you as a teenager."

A tense silence lingered between us as we waited for the elevator to reach our floor, the tiny, illuminated numbers at the top left corner rising in quantity as we continued to go up. Finally, a soft _ding_ chimed as the doors reopened, revealing the ever quiet corridor we had become familiar with.

I strode out of the elevator immediately, briskly walking to maintain distance between me and my friend, for I was still steaming after our conversation, and irritated that he believed he could even pin an ounce of blame onto me. Stopping at my door, my back was to Bard as he trudged past me, my eyes staying focused on the wood as I pulled my key card out.

Bard, reaching his room, as well, halted at his door and glanced at me with apologetic eyes, his hand scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "So, uhm... What did the kid say?"

"He didn't answer," I responded coolly, taking the card back out of the slot once it lit up green, my opposite hand grabbing the handle and easily opening my door.

"Oh." Bard uttered in surprise, his brows drawn together. As if sensing my inner worry, he spoke up hopefully. "Well, hey, maybe he's throwing a party. He never gets left home alone, so that's what I would be doing if my old man left for a weekend."

"Yeah, maybe." I said flatly, doubt evident in my tone. My eyes tore away from the vision of my room, gaze locking with his as I muttered. "Good night, you worthless drunk."

Bard gave me a small smile at the insult, his voice soft as he waved to me. "Good night, logical stoner."

A small smile involuntarily cracked my grimace, and I stepped inside my room, closing the door behind me.

Bard watched after me, shaking his head as he breathed to himself. "I hope he's all right."

 

* * *

 

Waking up on Sunday filled me with relief and dread. It was nice to know that this was the last day at the company trip, though this day was proving to be packed with the most exercises. We were forced to act out problematic situations, so our boss could judge how we handled each one. Of course, some of his employees didn't fix the issues to his standards, and we were forced to reenact them over and over again until he was pleased. We also had to review proper formatting for our documents, which took at least an hour. Then, our boss had to repeatedly drill company policies into our heads, to the point where we were nearly brain dead.

Lunch was a very short lasting solace, for we weren't allowed to have our break today; my boss' words still searing in my mind.

"I have to regrettably inform you all that none of you will be receiving a break for lunch today. Instead, sandwiches will be delivered up here, to prevent prior incidents from happening," he had said, his dark gaze piercing through me and Bard.

 _Seems like I'm on his shit list now,_ I thought bitterly while I leaned against the wall, watching as all of my coworkers munched on their sandwiches. I averted my focus onto my phone, absentmindedly flicking through it to check my messages.

_Everything's fine, Daddy! I'm just working on my homework. I promise I'll call if I need anything. I love you. <3_

I smiled as I read Ciel's message, noting that he sent it at 10:13 last night.

"I must've already been asleep; I don't remember my phone going off," I murmured to myself. My body suddenly tensed as I felt the presence of someone next to me, and I put my phone away, turning to look at the person.

"O-oi, Sebastian," Bard greeted anxiously, his brows furrowing slightly as he tried to form the proper words to say. "You should probably eat something. Here, I brought you a sandwich."

I looked down as he extended his hand forward, offering me a delicately assembled sandwich on a small paper platter. My lips curled into a glower, though my eyes were soft from the kind gesture. "No thank you, Bard. I'm not very hungry."

"Oh. All right then," he nodded to me, frowning as he turned and walked away, leaving me to stand there alone until our employer ordered everyone to finish their meals.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on, although, there was a single positive outlook; we all would be returning home sooner than we thought. Our boss had originally stated that we wouldn't get home until the late evening, but now it seemed that we would be departing sooner.

"Everyone," he spoke up, silencing any quiet chatter. "I had planned on us staying quite a few hours longer, but considering tomorrow is a work day and I expect you all to be on your best behavior, I believe I owe you time for adequate rest. This company trip is officially over, and do remember to demonstrate what you've learned tomorrow; I will be watching you all very, _very_ closely."

And with that eery note, we were dismissed. I fought to scramble out of the room as fast as possible, for the man's ever so piercing gaze was fixated on me, as it had been since Saturday night. Why he was more fascinated with me rather than Bard, I didn't know. After all, Bard was the idiot who proclaimed to be car sick.

"Fucking moron," I muttered to myself, before I barged into my hotel room and started organising my things. Luckily, I was smart enough to pack up this morning, and I double checked to make sure I wasn't missing anything before I grabbed my suitcase and proceeded to leave the room behind.

I raked my hand through my hair as I stepped out of the lavish hotel, a warm breeze tickling my face as a soft sunlight illuminated the land. Soon, it would be sunset, and the air would steadily start to cool down over time. I sauntered over to my vehicle, avoiding the numerous cars that were already making their way out of the lot. Carelessly throwing my suitcase into the backseat, I settled down into the driver's side, one hand gripping onto the steering wheel while my other dug into my trouser pocket for my phone.

My cellular device read 4:07 PM, and I knew that, if traffic wasn't completely awful, I would probably make it home around five. As I started the engine of the car and threw it into reverse, I dialed my son's number, pressing the phone to my ear as I expertly began to pull out of my parking space. A few soft rings met my ears, before they were quickly silenced.

"D-Daddy?" A quiet voice chirped, nearly sounding startled.

"Ciel," I hummed, pausing briefly so I could shift the car into drive. "I'm headed home now. I'll probably get there around five so I should be able to make dinner."

"Oh, okay. That sounds good. I'll be waiting for you. I love you!"

"Love you too," I breathed, before I swiftly ended the call, now using my full attention to focus on the drive back. Soon I'd be home, in my own space with my own bed, my own food, and my own personal bad habits, and nothing seemed more promising than that.

 

* * *

 

When I finally arrived home, I was pleased to see that my prediction was correct; I pulled up at 4:55 exactly. As soon as my car was parked, I dashed from the vehicle, heavy suitcase in tow, and strut toward the front door of my house happily as if I were on the fucking yellow brick road. When I shoved my key inside, I noticed that, as always, it got stuck in the keyhole, though the familiar struggle only caused a smile to break out on my face.

"Oh, dastardly devilish lock, how I missed your stubbornness," I joked to myself, jiggling the key around for a few moments before the lock eventually clicked and I was able to open the door - or, rather, throw the piece of wood open as dramatically as possible.

Once inside, I went completely crazy, ripping my dress shirt out of my trousers and tearing the nuisance of a tie off of my neck immediately, making me feel like I could finally breathe. I left my suitcase at the door momentarily, deciding to instead stride over to the living room couch, where my son was currently sitting, reading a book peacefully.

"Hey, buddy," I greeted, my large hand coming down to ruffle up his sleek hair. "How was the party?"

My son glanced up from his book to look at me, one of his eyebrows arching in an almost sassy manner. "It was great. Polynomials and trigonometric identities sure know how to party."

"Tough crowd," I flinched jokingly at his humorless answer, letting out a soft sigh. "I figured you wouldn't have gone crazy, but that's really all you did? You just worked on homework?"

"I read a couple books," Ciel offered, shrugging. "And I missed you."

I chuckled at his answer, mussing up his hair once more before I turned and slinked back over to the front door, fetching the suitcase I left. "You read, did homework, and missed your old man. I've never heard of a teenager being so docile, Ciel."

He let out a quiet laugh at my words, and I flashed him a small smile as I trudged past the living room, heading for the stairs. "I'll start dinner in a little while. First, though, I need to put away my things."

Ciel nodded, his focus now back on his book. "Okay, Daddy."

Making soft groans, I began to trek up the stairs, cradling the burdensome suitcase in my arms. My muscles were tensed and strained from carrying the simple thing; it would seem that I needed to start weight training again. Or perhaps I was getting older, and my bones were becoming more feeble. That thought had me grimacing. _Time to start chugging milk._

Once I finally reached the top of the stairs, I let out a relieved exhale, letting my arms droop slightly as my hold on the case was able to loosen. I had made it past the most difficult part, now all that was left to do was discard the damned thing in my room for the time being.

I strode toward my bedroom door, quiet pants leaving me as I slowly started to catch my breath, and I was nearly to my chamber before a sudden sound made me freeze. I halted where I stood, my eyes widening slightly as I listened closely.

_Scratch... Scratch... Scratch..._

It was slow, and very drawn out, almost as if someone was trying to wear something down, though it was also very soft, like no effort was being put into the motions.

_Scratch... Scratch... Scratch..._

My brows furrowed as I looked around, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. It seemed to echo, and that made it nearly impossible to discern the origin of the noise. Finally, my orbs floated to the sky, my pupils dilating in sudden realisation. _The attic._

I carefully set my suitcase down on the ground, dusting my hands off as I took small steps toward the attic door, the scraping sound seeming to get clearer and clearer as I neared it. Reaching up, my fingers curled around the rope dangling from the ceiling, my arm bending as I started to pull down the stairs to the attic.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

The unexpected voice startled me, and I instinctively let go of the rope, turning around to face my son and looking into his curious eyes. "Oh, Ciel," I breathed, gasping slightly as my heart pounded in my chest. "I was going to go up into the attic. Have you heard any strange scratching noises? I'm afraid we might have rats or something."

"I have, actually," Ciel frowned, his cerulean irises averting to the ground temporarily in thought.

"I'll go check and see if we have any poison; that should take care of them."

"I can do it, Daddy," Ciel spoke up, giving me a small smile. "It's dusty up there, anyway. You don't want your allergies to flare up."

My brows furrowed slightly, eyes hardening a bit in protest. "Yeah, but-" my disagreement was cut off by the sharp ringing of a phone, the pocket of my pants vibrating wildly. I clicked my tongue, turning my attention to my phone as I slid it out, a groan leaving me when I read the name on the screen.

I answered the call hurriedly, shoving the phone up to my ear as I pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation. "What is it, Bard?"

"O-o-oi, S-Sebastian.."

My pupils dilated as I heard his voice, the tone distorted by choked sobs and snivels, while the loud background noise threatened to drown him out. "Bardroy? What's the matter?"

He gave a high pitched hiccup. "I-it's M-Mey, sh-she..."

I groaned again, my index and middle fingers pressing to my temple as the situation dawned on me. "You're at the bar, aren't you?"

"Mhm.."

"I'll be there," I hissed, before I ended the call, sighing in frustration as my attention returned to my son, and I gave him an apologetic look. "Ciel, it's Bard. He needs m-"

"Go, Daddy," Ciel cut me off, giving me an understanding smile. "I'll take care of your suitcase and those pesky attic rats for you."

"I'm not sure I'll be home in time for dinner..." I trailed off, frowning at the thought of forcing Ciel to make his own dinner once again.

He gave a small giggle, waving me off casually. "It's okay, we'll eat dinner together tomorrow night."

Thankful for my son's understanding, I gave him a quick hug before I bolted down the stairs and dashed out of the house, my fingers tangling in my hair to try to fix my disheveled appearance. I hadn't wanted to deal with this shit tonight, but I supposed I couldn't be mad at the asshole forever.

 

* * *

 

I sauntered into the well known bar, the familiar stench of grease and potent liquor instantly hitting my nostrils. A thick layer of cigarette smoke hung in the air, practically obscuring one's vision. Spotting my blond friend draped over the counter haphazardly, I slid up next to him on the bar, waving at the bartender to bring me a drink as I sat down.

Bard raised his head a little, his bloodshot eyes flicking over in my direction and his pupils locking with mine. He made an attempt to smile, but he seemed too lethargic to do so. Biting my lip, I laced my fingers together, folding my hands over the counter as I glanced up at the many different trinkets hanging along the wall. "Tom must have the night off," I murmured.

Bard finally sat up, though his posture was hunched significantly as his elbows held him upright. "He does. Pete's on tonight," he proclaimed with a gurgle, waving at the passing bartender as he placed an iced glass of whiskey in front of me.

I nodded to Pete in thanks as he strut away, my hand curling around the cold glass and lifting it to my lips. I took a few long, large gulps of the strong alcohol, my esophagus burning at the welcomed sensation, before I set the glass back down, clearing my throat uneasily as I speak with a low voice. "So, what happened this time?"

Bard sniffled softly, his solemn eyes staring down at the empty, lined shot glasses near his head. "Same shit, different day, Sebastian."

I frowned a little at his comment. My friend never usually elaborated too much on his fights with Mey; whether it was manly pride or he simply wished not to talk about it, I didn't know, which is why I was taken aback when he continued to speak.

"She thinks I'm worthless," he said hoarsely, tears welling up in his reddened eyes. "And I know I'm worthless too; she ain't telling me nothing new. And hell, I couldn't give a fuck if anyone thought I was worthless... anyone but her."

A tear streamed down my friend's face, the droplet leisurely rolling down his cheek, as if to mock his misery. I stayed silent, allowing him to speak his mind; it wasn't often that Bard felt comfortable with opening up. "This is killing me, Sebastian. I love her. God, I love her so fucking much. But this hurts so bad."

"Perhaps," I whispered quietly, my tone gentle. "You should try to move on from her."

Bard turned his body fully to look at me, his eyes completely serious. "Oh? Is that what you did with Rachel, Sebastian?"

My eyes widened slightly. "M-me?"

"You tried to move on from her, tried to forget her. I can sleep on the couch for years, shit, I can even move out of the house and get my own place like you did with Rach, but do you ever truly move on? Did you ever move on from Rachel, Sebastian?"

My brows furrowed, eyes narrowing a bit as I stared down at the glass of whiskey, my index finger tracing the rim of it absentmindedly. "No," I answered simply, a layer of tears sparkling in my orbs. "No, I never really moved on. I moved out of the house to escape her wrath; I thought that, maybe after some separation, I'd feel more like myself again, but..." I trailed off briefly, my pupils fixating on a blinking, neon light above the bar. "The truth is, you never feel like yourself again. It actually made me feel worse to get away from her. I felt like I was abandoning someone in need, someone who needed my help and I just turned them away. I even regret trying to move on; if I hadn't, maybe I wouldn't have ended up so broken, and maybe she wouldn't have abused Ciel."

Tears clung to my lashes as I spoke these words, my eyes blinking rapidly to try to clear my blurry vision. "So, to answer your question, no. You never really move on from the one you truly love."

Bard nodded, sighing as he ran his hand through his messy hair, a few more tears slipping out as he did so. "I didn't think so."

Our conversation ended there, and for the rest of the evening, we spent our time silently drinking next to one another, and listening to the soft patter of rain outside. If moments like these solidified anything for me, it was that, no matter what, my bond with Bard was completely unbreakable. He needed me, and I honestly needed him. Out of everything we've been through, we've still held strong and survived together all these years.

And there was nothing more touching than that.

 

* * *

 

I quietly scuttled into the house, silently shutting the door behind me as I entered my pitch black home. It was already eleven, and, due to the darkness of the house, I assumed Ciel was already asleep. Bard and I had luckily ended on a high note; Pete joined us in conversation for a while, so we were able to make light jokes until it was time to leave. I had offered Bard my couch if he wished to stay away from home for the night, but he politely refused, saying that he wouldn't want to worry Mey, and he'd rather not be apart from her.

Carefully, I made my way through the house, trying to use my memory to remember where every obstacle was. "Fuck," I cursed quietly as my knee slammed into the coffee table, pain radiating throughout my bones. I suppose I didn't take my intoxicated state into consideration.

Eventually, I made it to the stairwell, the steps lightly creaking as I treaded up them. Once I reached the second story hallway, I halted for a brief moment, my eyes scanning my surroundings as I listened carefully. I stood there for at least five minutes, before a small smile curled my lips. _No more scratching._

I proceeded to make my way into my bedroom silently, trying to remain as quiet as possible so I didn't risk waking my son. I shut my door carefully, leaving it cracked just a bit before I allowed myself to completely relax, a groan leaving me as I stretched my limbs out. I stumbled a little as I started to undress, my fingers clumsily undoing the buttons on my dress shirt while my legs wobbled as I tore off my pants. Once I was only in my boxers, I flopped down on my bed, a pleasant hum leaving me as the mattress molded to my frame perfectly.

Flicking my TV on, my eyes curiously glanced over toward my nightstand, idly pondering if I should light up before I went to bed. _Waiting a little while might be best,_ I decided, my gaze now fixing on the images scrolling across the flat screen. _Wouldn't want to get ill on my first night home._

Settling comfortably in my bed, I yawned partly in exhaustion and partly in boredom as I clicked through various TV programs, all of them seeming dull and uninteresting. "Fuck it," I mumbled, shrugging to myself. "Might as well crank one out."

I turned the channel to one of the more... lewd programs, making sure that the volume was quiet enough where it couldn't be heard out in the hall. Then, after shifting my position once more, I let my hand slink down into my boxers, my digits gently rubbing coaxing circles into my currently soft member. My eyes lidded slightly as I watched the woman on the screen, her slender fingers hooking underneath her tight shirt and pulling it up, revealing a pair of huge, flawless tits.

A groan left me at the sight, my dick throbbing slightly in my hand as I watched her fake nails trail over her breasts teasingly, prodding her already hard nipples while she let out a moan. I tugged my boxers down, grunting as the cold air hit my freed dick, and I wrapped my hand around it more fully, giving it an eager squeeze.

"Fuuuck yeah," I breathed, my back arching marginally as I started to quickly move my hand up and down my hardened shaft, precum desperately spilling from my slit and dripping down my entire cock. It was already so aroused and so sensitive; I could tell it had been a while since I last jacked off.

As the girl on the TV started to masturbate, I bucked my hips up wildly, grunts and groans leaving my lips at my every movement, my hand tightening its grip as I vigorously tugged on my dick. Closing my eyes, I let myself get lost in her moans, imagining her fake nails tracing down the veins of my cock and picturing her pouty lips rubbing into my swollen head.

"Fuck yeah. Fuck, so fucking good," I gasped, my fingers now starting to move a bit more carelessly as the lubrication from my precum made them slip and slide involuntarily, my teeth gritting as my abdominal muscles began to clench up uncomfortably. I roughly thrust my hips up into the air as my hand continued to squeeze and massage my swollen shaft, a shudder shaking my body as tingles licked at my skin. With one final grunt, I came powerfully, the white essence dripping down my dick while some even splattered onto my covers and stomach, the warm liquid running down my flesh.

"Fuck," I panted, raking a hand through my mildly damp hair as I let out ragged exhales. I permitted myself to lay there and relax for a few moments, my body twitching a bit as pleasant sensations surged through my nerve endings. I tucked my member back into my boxers, my fingers fumbling for my remote and changing the channel to something else before I melted into my bed, groaning in fatigue.

The last thing I remembered was reaching for my nightstand for a joint, though I never made it, my arm dangling off of the side of my bed as I instantly succumbed to a deep sleep, one that was peaceful and void of dreams.


	8. Contemptible Ciel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT WARNING: The following passage contains graphic depictions of mentally disturbing content that is not recommended for the faint-hearted or those with weak stomachs. Read at your own expense; we will not be held responsible if you toss your cookies, so to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO DONE. This chapter was a fucking bitch to write and edit. 32k words long. My carpal tunnel has carpal tunnel, which has turned into arthritis. I swore I'd never write something this gargantuan again but I SPOKE TOO FUCKING SOON. I don't even have wrists anymore. What are fingers? Put me out of my misery.
> 
> IN ALL SERIOUSNESS. This chapter is indeed long and graphic as fuck. Sorrynotsorry. I'm so done that I barely have the mental capacity to coherently type words and form them into proper sentences.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS TO SEBASUCHANSKITTEN for being the most wonderful fucking goldfish to ever exist. I could not ask for a better co-author. I appreciate you so fucking much, my little angel. Everyone should give her their love and thanks, because without her this chapter would have been a bunch of fucking nothing; too many ideas that didn't make a bit of sense. She helped me pull it all together and focus it onto the logic behind it all. If I didn't have her, this chapter wouldn't flow, it would be full of typos and repetitive words, and it would be so illogical and unrealistic that you'd expect a unicorn to pop up and start impaling the neighbors. 
> 
> SO THANK YOU KIT, I LOVE YOU AND APPRECIATE EVERYTHING YOU DO. I wouldn't have made it this far without you.
> 
> I'm done typing. Forever. Please read and enjoy.

The twittering of birds roused me from my sleep, pulling me out of the depths of slumber, and I slowly opened my eyes to the light filtering in through the blinds. Considering how late I had gone to bed and the fact that it was 7 a.m., I felt completely at peace and very well rested. I rubbed my eyes, nestling further into my blankets, almost desiring to remain in the warmth for the rest of the day, much to the protest of my bladder. I had had quite the dream last night, but a heavy fog obscured the details, annoyingly obscuring it from my memory. I lay there, blankly staring up at the ceiling and trying to recall whatever I had been dreaming of. As flickers of my dream began dredging to the surface in my mind, my eyes widened in pleasant surprise before they lidded in slight arousal. My teeth sank into my bottom lip and worried it languidly, skin tingling as I relived a particularly erotic scene, and a low purr rose in my throat, shivers dancing down my spine. Life would certainly be very interesting if he had gone to high school with me rather than being my father. It was almost too bad it had only been a dream, as it had been a love story that made me swoon. If only he were the type to take charge and be that rough with me. The idea of being manhandled alone was enough to make me hard. I brushed off the fantasies as easily as they came on; I loved my father for the gentle, loving, and kind man that he was, not the cold, dominating sadist he would never be.

With a soft sigh, I decided that I had spent enough time lazing about in bed even though it was Sunday, and I slowly sat up, the covers falling off of me and bunching up around my waist, before I completely pushed them away. My bladder ached with insistence that I move faster, but I couldn't find it in myself to care, and, ignoring the stabbing pain, I slid forward until my feet hit the plush carpeting. Standing up, I pad across the floor and yank my door open, a hand coming up to stifle a yawn. I hadn't been locking my door since my father had been gone, although as soon as he returned I would continue my habit of leaving my room constantly closed off to everyone but me. As careful as I was, a minor detail or piece of evidence could slip past my notice and send my world crashing to the ground. I wouldn't allow such a thing, and so my father couldn't be in my room unsupervised. Traipsing down the hall, I realised that my jaunt was particularly cheerful, and I couldn't help but to hum softly to myself, a small smile breaking out over my lips. Once reaching the bathroom, I quickly relieved my bladder and washed my hands after flushing the toilet, scrubbing at my skin to make sure it was fully clean. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my expression oddly joyful, and as I dried my hands I decided to skip my normal morning routine. I saw no point in taking a shower now when I knew I would only be getting dirty and have to take another one later.

I exited the bathroom, making my way back down the hall and to the stairs, and once I reached the bottom of the staircase, I practically danced my way into the kitchen, the fact that it was Sunday finally sinking in. A happy grin broke out over my face, and I hummed in delight, my tone lilting as my voice took on a singsong quality. "Daddy's coming home today."

Very nearly skipping over to the counter, I pull the coffee machine forward and open it up, slipping a filter into place and spooning in the proper amount of coffee grounds. I rinse the pot out before filling it with water and adding it to the back of the machine, starting it and sliding it back into place. As I wait patiently for the delicious liquid to brew, I lean against the counter, my eyes flicking around absentmindedly before they settle on the block of knives, the blade sharpener resting next to it. Reaching a hand out, I caress the sleek black handle of one of the knives before I grasp onto it and pull it out, the sharp metal glinting when the light hits it. Turning it in my hand, I study it closer as a dear memory comes to life in my head. I can practically hear my father's voice even now...

_I'm standing on the stool in the kitchen, precariously perched on tiptoes so that I can clear the counter, and I pick up a knife, turning it curiously in my hands. I had just recently met Daddy for the first time when I came to live with him permanently, though I had seen countless pictures of him in high school, and I knew a lot about him. He had been all that Mommy had talked about, so I loved him even before I saw him. Wanting to get closer to Daddy and gain even more of his affections, I had asked him to let me help him make dinner. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could and he was more than happy to teach me a few basics when it came to preparing food. My grip on the knife firms up, and I hold it awkwardly in my hands, my knuckles turning white from how tightly I'm squeezing the handle. Confusion causes my brows to furrow, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, unsure if it's supposed to be this uncomfortable to use. "Am I holding it right Daddy?"_

_"No, no, no," he says with a warm chuckle, and he comes up behind me, his chest brushing against my back as he hovers over me. His arm comes into sight as he gently grabs hold of my hand, carefully rotating the knife in my palm until I was properly clutching it. "You have to be careful, Ciel. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself. Also, don't grip the handle so tightly; try to relax a little." His hand curls around mine, steadying me and keeping my hold on the blade gentle. He guides the knife down toward the cutting board, positioning it over the onion and keeping it there. "Here, I'll help you. Are you ready?"_

_"Thank you, Daddy." My cheeks flush ever so slightly pink, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips as I relax my grip on the knife enough that blood can flow to my fingers. I still hold the handle firmly enough that it won't slip from my hands, and a feeling of happiness bubbles up in me that he's taking such care to teach me. I focus intently on the onion, the sharp edge of the knife barely grazing its flesh, and I give a curt nod of determination, allowing him full control over my hand. "I'm ready."_

_He slowly lowers our hands, the blade easily chopping through the onion and efficiently cutting it in half, releasing the pungent scent into the air which stings my eyes slightly. His free arm curls around me, stilling my body as I wobble slightly on my toes, and he continues to guide my cuts, letting me get a feel for how to properly slice through the onion. After we've cut a few slices, he pauses and speaks softly in my ear._

_"Remember, this isn't a race. It's best to take your time with cutting up vegetables than lose a finger in a rush." His words are whispered, his breath displacing my hair and tickling my skin, a small shiver dancing over my flesh, before he completely releases his hold on my hand. I'm now solely in control of the knife, and that thought excites me even through my disappointment of his hand leaving mine. He guides my free hand to one of the onion halves, helping me hold it steady. My fingers curl around the white vegetable, and I hold it as still as I can manage. "Now you try. Remember, take your time." His presence leaves me as he takes a few steps back, though he doesn't stray too far, watching carefully over me as a precaution._

_I turn to glance back at him, my expression a mix of determination and uncertainty, but I push away that unsure feeling and turn back to face the cutting board, sucking in a shaky breath. I tighten my grip on the onion to make sure it won't slip away, my fingers shrinking back away from the blade as I slowly bring it down, and I slice through it, the cut a little sloppy. As my confidence grows I continue chopping through it, however uneven the pieces may have been, remembering to take my time under Daddy's supervision. Satisfied with myself, I turn to look back at him, searching for approval as my eyes widen pleadingly, wanting his praise. "Did I do a good job?"_

_Daddy chuckles, his eyes closing as a huge, joyful beam curls his lips. "Fantastic job, Ciel. Now we have the onions taken care of." He steps forward to remove the knife from my grasp, gently setting it upon the counter before he ruffles up my hair, and the warmth of happiness settles in my stomach. "And never fret if the slices aren't perfect; the looks don't matter as long as they taste yummy."_

_I grin at him happily, my head leaning into his hand in an affectionate gesture. Pure joy radiates from my tiny body, and I throw my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I can as my legs wobble slightly, unsteady on my feet as I send myself off balance. "Thank you Daddy! I love you!"_

_He returns the embrace as he lifts me gently from the stool and holds me, one arm curled around me to keep me firmly against his chest. His warmth envelopes me, making me smile so wide it hurts my face, and he turns and approaches the stove, carrying me over there. "I love you too, Ciel. Now I'll let you stir while we saute them."_

_I giggle childishly, my arms coming up to snake around his neck as he carries me, and I grip tightly onto his shoulders as if I'm afraid to be dropped, though it's really to draw myself closer to him. I want to drown in his presence. My body begins to squirm in excitement, my face feeling as though it's going to split in half from my huge grin. I never thought cooking would be anything other than tedious, but it was proving to be a fun bonding experience with Daddy. "Yay! Do I get to use the giant wooden spoon?" I ask hopefully, almost begging._

_His laughter rumbles in his chest, the sounds low and pleasant to my ears, and he nods his head. His hand reaches out to grasp onto the utensil, and he passes it to my small hands, which cradle the wooden handle almost reverently. Daddy begins digging around in the cupboard, searching for a frying pan. "Yes, you get to use the giant wooden spoon."_

As the memory faded, I sighed wistfully. It was a very important day to me, helping him in the kitchen and having so much fun with him. I blinked my eyes slowly, looking down at the knife I still held in my hand. It made me extremely happy to think about how much warmth he had possessed for me, having hardly known me, and that it had never faded, only seeming to grow stronger as the years passed. That my father held so much affection for me made my heart soar. I could still feel his laughter, rumbling in his chest and making my own squeeze in happiness. Several years had passed since that day, but I still remembered every single precious detail and could play it back as though it were a movie.

The scent of coffee hit my nose, making me breathe in deeply, the aroma extremely pleasing. The pot was full of the dark liquid, fully brewed and practically begging to be consumed. Picking up a mug from the dishrack, a minuscule, heavily faded scar on the knuckle of my left thumb caught my eye, and I paused, recalling how I had recieved it. It wasn't very noticeable as the wound hadn't been detrimental, merely a shallow scrape. The only reason it had scarred was because I picked at it as it tried to heal, to serve as a physical reminder to my memory. An image of my father floated into my head, and I once again allowed myself to be sucked up in the flashback...

_Daddy sits down in one of the old wooden chairs, immediately pulling me into his lap. The kitchen smells of perfectly sauteed onions, somehow managing to seem appetizing even though I hated the vegetable; really, I hated all vegetables. But that didn't matter. It must have smelled yummy because Daddy and I had cooked it together, so it was infused with love. He picks up a freshly washed potato from the table and sets it in my left hand; in the right, he slips a peeler into place, wrapping my fingers around it. I settle into his lap, wiggling around to get comfortable before I lean back into his chest. "Now we have to peel the top layer of skin off of the potatoes, and we use this. All you have to do is gently run it down the potato and the skin will come right off." His large hand curls over mine, completely enveloping it in warmth, and he guides me up to the top of the potato, before helping me slide the peeler down. A sliver of skin easily slips off with the motion of our hands. "See?"_

_My legs cross as I watch him demonstrate how to peel potatoes, focusing on the amount of pressure needed to get such a clean peel. As the piece of skin comes off all in one piece, my eyes widen, and I nod my head vigorously. "Woah it's like magic! Can I try?" I start bouncing in his lap, eager to attempt it on my own._

_He nods and smiles, letting go of my hand as he finishes demonstrating. "Of course. Just be careful and go slow." A soft hum leaves his throat as he reaches for a potato and peeler of his own, picking them up and beginning to expertly shave the skin from the spud. His words enter one ear and exit the other just as fast, my excitement overpowering my caution._

_A happy grin lights up my face, and I manage to peel off a slip of skin, though it doesn't come off as smoothly as the ones that Daddy did, broken pieces coming off in small spurts. Unfazed by the less than perfect first try, I rotate the potato in my hand, before I hastily drag the peeler down the front, wanting nothing more than to be praised for doing a good job. My hand jerks to the left accidentally, and the blade skips over the knuckle of my thumb, instantly cutting into my flesh. I wince, dropping the potato and peeler so that I can cradle my wounded appendage to my chest, a tiny whimper leaving me. "Ouch." The spud hits the floor with a dull thud, rolling underneath the table while the peeler clatters on the linoleum._

_"Ciel!" Daddy gasps, carelessly dropping the vegetable and his peeler, which join mine on the floor, his attention instantly on me. His care for me makes a little bubble of happiness rise in my chest, and he gently grips onto my hand. "Let Daddy see." I release my hold on my thumb and allow him to pull my hand into his sight, and he studies it before releasing a sigh of relief. He picks me up into his arms as he rises to his feet, before depositing me into the chair. "Stay right here." He exits the kitchen, leaving me alone._

_Although the scrape is shallow, it still hurts, and tears well up in my eyes as I sniffle softly. I stare down at my thumb, watching blood bubble up on my skin, and my shoulders hunch as I wait for his return, head hanging almost shamefully. I draw my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. Daddy returns soon enough, striding into the kitchen, clutching onto a few first aid items._

_"Ciel, I told you to be careful. You're lucky you didn't peel off your skin," he states as he sets everything he's gathered onto the table._

_The admonishment makes my tears pool over, and my shoulders tremble as I suppress the urge to sob, my bottom lip quivering when I speak, causing me to stutter slightly. "I-I'm sorry Daddy. I just wanted to do a good job faster so that I could make you proud." More saline fluid spills from my eyes, but I'm unwilling to continue crying, and my right hand comes up to rub the trails off of my skin, smearing them over my face as I sniffle, trying to calm myself._

_"It's not a race, Ciel. I told you that. I'd rather see you take your time and be unharmed than to rush and hurt yourself like this." The look on his face is sympathetic, which assures me that he's not too mad at me for disregarding his warnings, and he sighs softly as he grasps onto a cubic brown bottle. "I suppose now I can teach you first aid. This is peroxide." He pauses as he holds it up for me to get a good look at. "It's magical stuff that gets in your scrapes and cleans them. Like a special soap."_

_He takes a cotton ball into his hand after unscrewing the cap from the hydrogen peroxide, pressing the cotton to the opening and tipping the bottle to ensure that it's dampened with the liquid. "It'll burn a little, but it's necessary." He sets the bottle down before taking my left hand and dabbing the soaked ball against the cut, applying light pressure to the spot._

_"I'm sorry," I say solemnly, my head nodding as I take in this new lesson, and I blink away the excess moisture from my eyes so that I can watch the process more clearly. I study each step he takes intently, curiosity causing my head to tilt to the side slightly. When the peroxide seeps into the cut, I wince a little, but keep my hand steady in his so that he can properly treat it. "Does it kill germs?"_

_"Yes. It kills all the bad, nasty germs." Daddy gives me a warm smile, melting away any sadness I felt from causing him disappointment. He increases the pressure steadily over the next few moments before he removes the soiled cotton from my digit and sets it onto the table. His fingers easily grasp onto the bandage that he brought, and after carefully removing the packaging, he wraps it securely around my knuckle, covering the cut entirely. "There. All better."_

_I flick my gaze down, staring at the bandaid momentarily, unsatisfied with the almost doctor-like treatment, before I lift my hand up and hold it out to him. My bottom lip juts out into a small pout, and I draw my brows together, my voice soft. "Will you kiss it, Daddy?"_

_His chuckle is almost enough to make me crack a smile, and he brings his lips down closer to my thumb. "Of course." He presses a tender kiss to my digit, lips brushing against the fabric of the bandage. "I forgot that kisses are what makes everything better."_

_"Kisses are magic, Daddy. You shouldn't forget." A smile breaks over over my lips as a soft giggle leaves me, and my cheeks flush warmly, washing away all traces of sorrow from my features. I cradle my hand happily once he releases his hold on it, and I reverently run my fingers over the bandaid. I let my expression become contrite as I look up at Daddy through my lashes. "Thank you, Daddy. I promise I'll be more careful."_

_"Good," he says as he rises to his feet, leaning over me to press a kiss to the top of my head. His eyes are soft as he regards me. "And don't forget, I will always be proud of you, Ciel. You needn't rush to try to earn my praise."_

_"I won't, Daddy. I promise." I smile at him, the movement of my lips full of joy, and I swing my legs happily from my perch on the chair._

The memory was bittersweet, yet it still managed to be one of my favorite moments between us. My father had taught me a very valuable lesson that day, one that I would never forget. In everything that I did, whatever it may be, I never, ever rushed. I found the deepest enjoyment in taking my time.

"I'll make you proud, Daddy."

* * *

I had taken my time to leisurely finish off the majority of the pot of coffee, and as the caffeine began to kick in, I felt completely alert and energized to start what was sure to be a long, pleasing day. Exiting the kitchen, I softly hummed to myself as I made my way up the stairs and headed straight for my room. My first order of business was to get dressed into a more suitable attire. Flinging open my closet, I selected a t-shirt that would cling to my person tightly, before shutting the door and stepping over to my dresser. I dug out an old pair of skinny jeans and black socks, before I stripped easily out of my pajamas and quickly dressed, tugging the cotton over my head and slipping my arms into place. Once my pants were secure, I leaned against my wall as I lifted each foot up one at a time and slid them into the socks. Straightening up, I looked down at myself in satisfaction at my plain outfit. I left my room, pulling the door shut behind me as I waltzed down the hall, pausing beneath the attic entrance. I grasped onto the rope and tugged, pulling the ladder down before traipsing up and poking my head up into the attic.

The fetid odor was the first thing to hit me, crawling up my nostrils and settling there, threatening to never leave. It was noxious, the malodorous combination of too many different things, all seeming to be permanently mixed together. My nose wrinkled up delicately in disgust as it slowly began deciphering each separate element. The first scent to make itself known was the metallic stench of blood, though the familiar iron was tainted with the hints of rot mingling with it as it was beginning to decay. As soon as my brain identified the blood, my nostrils and tastebuds were assaulted every time I took a breath of each insulting smell, and distinguished themselves in my thoughts as flashes. The cloying pungency of sick, day old vomit growing ever stronger as the suffocating septic reek of feces tangled with it, producing a mixture that would make a grown man projectile. Stale urine, thick with ammonia, tainted the air with its noisomeness, and the acrid sickeningly-sweet, charcoal-like odor of burnt flesh permeated the attic. The stench of rot ripples through the room, tasting of rancid, decaying flesh, with the oddest hint of fungus. I even detected the faint saccharine fetor of infection. Bringing the sickening aroma to a crescendo was perhaps the most prominent component of all: the smell of fear.

I was amazed that, strong as this putrid stink was, it had not penetrated through the attic floor and infected the rest of the house. It seemed to fester here, growing worse by the day, and yet it remained only inside the attic, which was certainly not an air-tight space; there were cracks in the floorboards and crevices in the walls. Perhaps the way I had protected the attic itself and its contents with the tarp and plastic wrap was somehow containing the scent. The source of the rancid stench was located in the center of the room; a bucket, completely encased in a large black trash bag, which was shoved into it as a makeshift wastebasket and tied off on the bottom for easy removal, rested innocently next to the metal chair. Some of its contents peeked up over the edge, the ruddy rust brown of dried blood caking the black plastic as creamy peach strips and clumps of golden blonde draped over the sides. The locks of hair were tainted with that same rust of old blood, and my eyes followed the long, curling strand, all the way down the side of the bucket, and onto the tarp, the end of the tress caressing pale flesh.

My eyes locked onto a foot sitting in a puddle of vomit, coated in blood with smears of puke, the drier areas chipping off in patches. Small toes and grotesque nailbeds completely exposed, with chunks of flesh missing, scabbing over in a feeble attempt to heal. Every single toenail had been ripped off brutally and haphazardly, for few of them had a sliver of cuticle remaining, whereas others weren't so lucky. A few stray nails, bloody, with bits of meat stuck on them, littered the tarp. I slid my gaze to the other leg, dropping my eyes down, and barely any creamy peach could be spotted; deep, hideous bruises marred the entirety of the lower extremity attached to it. The foot was completely mangled, bent out of shape and swollen to inhuman proportions. Where toes should normally have been were flattened digits, squashed like little insects, still twitching though the bones were pulverized. The shackle-free ankle was snapped so violently that bone was jutting through the flesh, stained pinkish with the faintest spattering of blood. Large punctures on it still oozed blood, seemingly not able to clot themselves. Her other appendage still wore the shackle, spikes driven deep into flesh, separating the tarsals and dislocating the joint. Every shifting of the foot would send more blood spilling as the metal dug deeper and induced more pain.

Her legs were completely exposed and caked in bile, puke-stained jeans cut off and lying in a small pool of blood, the fabric soaking it up even as it dried. Perfect rectangles of skin were missing, revealing beet red, stringy muscle, shredded flesh, and small deposits of fat, which were oddly the color of somewhat dehydrated piss, and the texture of day old mashed potatoes. Her torso, while mainly untouched, was filthy with layers of browning red blood and the revolting spattering of regurgitation soaking into and staining the previously pale pink v-neck t-shirt. Both arms featured deep cuts, but only one displayed the same rectangular patches of exposed muscle and fat that the legs did. The other slender appendage was hardly recognizable as what it was; it resembled a flesh-colored, twisted cylinder of rubber, with intense bruises splotching the majority of it. Splinters of bone pushed up through the skin, stained with the blood that had oozed out and slid down the flesh, before drying into flaking tears. It had very clearly been broken several times, and the elbow jutted inward at an awkward, unnatural angle, and a jaggedly snapped bone pushed up through flesh, bits of meat sticking to the sharp edge, blood caking the entire length that stuck out. The arm dangled limply at her side, and her unbound hand brushed against the metal of the seat, rusted needles sticking out from beneath her fingernails. The former arm was still bound tightly by the wrist to the iron bar of the chair, the skin rubbed raw from constant struggling against its bindings. The zip tie was stained the brownish shade of old blood, with rivulets of red running through it as small movements reopened wounds.

Her face was perhaps in the worst shape of all, swollen and almost completely unrecognizable, relentlessly beaten with fists. Her lips were bloody and split in several places, dried bile sticking to the corners. Teeth with jagged breaks ripped through her flesh, the pearly whites stained pink with shredded tissue caught between them, though the majority of her teeth had been knocked out and were scattered over the tarp. Cuts decorated her face artistically, deeper in some areas and shallower in others, and her cheek was swollen and bruised sickening shades of purples, dark blues, greens, and yellows. The expanse of her throat was covered in oddly shaped patches of hideous contusions, the deep black twinged with dark reds and violets.

She was currently unconscious, the deep, dark bags under her eyes making her skin appear even more pallid and corpse-like. Her nose was broken, bent out of place, with bruising and dried blood crusting in thick scabs around her nostrils. Chunks of flesh had been cut messily from her head, removing clumps of her once-pretty flaxen hair. What remained was matted down with blood, the locks dreading together and forever stained. Old vomit clung to the ends of her hair, ratting it even further, and hardening the once-soft locks into crusty strands. Her entire body was covered in burns, the skin raised and welted along her collarbone, arms, and neck. Across her forehead was a large area of seared dermis, with charred flecks of black embedded into the expanse.

Elizabeth Midford was by far my most macabre masterpiece, a grotesquely beauteous sight to behold. Were I an artist, I would capture her likeness onto canvas as a personal memento, forever engraving this moment into time. However, I was no idiot: hard evidence such as a portrait of the victim would get me caught, and I couldn't have that. Not when I was so close to possessing my father.

"You smell like shit," I stated, my voice full of cold loathing as I finally stepped into the attic, careful to stay on the side of the tarp where no blood could infect my clothing. "Not so pretty now, are you, you little cunt? I'm sure you can't wait to wake and see more of your busted fucking face."

I slid my feet into an old pair of tennis shoes, tying them tightly before slipping medical shoe covers over them securely, a precaution that I found necessary even though I was most likely going to dispose of these shoes. I stepped further into the room, closer to where my gloves and clothes protection lay upon the tv tray, fresh and tightly wrapped in air-tight packaging. I hovered in front of her, my hands resting on my hips, a single brow raised as I stared down at the sleeping woman in condescension. Cocking my head to the side, I sneered, my teeth bared as I spun away and stormed over to the television tray, picking up a brutally sharp hunting knife, with a serrated edge and dangerous spikes jutting out along the top of the blade, lovingly cradling it in my hands. Just looking at the bitch made me uncontrollably livid, and I needed to do something familiar and monotonous to calm myself enough to keep control of my actions. The whetstone lay upon the metal tray, and I angled the knife at precisely 22 and a half degrees, sliding it easily over the surface. As I did this menial task, my mind began to wander.

Just as I had thought, it had all been far too easy.

* * *

"As much as I know you fucking enjoy watching me struggle, you sadistic bastard, help me get her fat ass in the fucking attic, Undertaker," I growled, glaring at him and almost wishing he would drop dead. Sadly, that would only hinder me; the last thing I needed to deal with was _two_ bodies.

Undertaker leaned against the wall in the hallway, laughing his ass off while I struggled to yank on Elizabeth's arms, her cow-like body refusing to budge a single inch up the attic stairs. "Kekekeke," he chuckled, doubling over as his amusement grew. "I'm tired, she's heavy. Her tits've gotta weigh at least 50lbs each."

"You carried her up here just fine, you fucking fuckstick. You weren't even winded when you dropped her stupid ass down on the steps. You just want to watch me endeavor fruitlessly, and you've fucking seen it. My father will be home by the time I finally get her up there." I spit my words at him, only seeming to entertain him further, and I yank hard enough on the bitch to dislocate her shoulder and completely rip her arm from her body, yet she still doesn't move.

"Ah, it looks like she's shifted up a bit. Kekekeke. You're sure to get her moving soon... if you keep trying. Kekeke. You're a strong boy." Undertaker's words are shaky with barely suppressed mirth, and I consider releasing my hold on her just to bash his fucking face in with my bare hands. _Not the time, Ciel,_ I thought grudgingly. _Remember, two corpses is not what I need._

"And she's a fucking whale, practically weighs a ton. _This isn't an exercise in futility, you motherfucker, so fucking assist me already."_ Finally after what seems like years, he pushes off of the wall and saunters over to me, his laughter soft and grating on my nerves. He easily picks her up and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and not the deadweight of a fucking whale that she so clearly possesses, before he strides past me and up into the attic. "Put her in the chair," I demand, huffing and catching my breath, my lungs wheezing slightly from the exertion. He drops her unceremoniously in the chair, his hand tangling in her disgustingly pretty golden tresses before he yanks her head back sharply and prods at her eyelid with his index finger. The digit pulls up the lid, exposing the white of her eyes and her crystalline emerald iris, which glittered like a gemstone in the dim light.

"Pretty eyes, she has," Undertaker mutters nonchalantly, and I roll my orbs as I release a long-suffering sigh.

"If you'll give me the toys and leave, I'll double your fucking payment." I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest like a petulant child.

This seems to satisfy him, as he gives me that unnerving Cheshire Cat smile, his hands leaving Elizabeth as he straightens up and exits the attic. I stare at her hatefully as I wait for him to return, my scowl seeming permanent on my lips. A few minutes later I hear his barely there footsteps, and I rip my gaze from her to turn my attention to him, hands already reaching out expectantly. He lifts up a large green canvas bag, completely full of toys for me to play with. Forgetting my recent irritation with him, a smile breaks out over my lips as though I were a kid in a candy store, and I take it from him, pulling it open and looking over everything inside with adoring eyes. A beautiful hunting knife catches my eyes, and I practically fall in love with the slim, insanely sharp blade. Perhaps I'll keep that toy. I can barely wait to start digging through all of the goodies, my hands practically trembling in my gloves.

"Everything you asked for is in there, along with a few items I thought might be useful," Undertaker hummed, his smirk flashing his white teeth as a low chuckle left him. "If that's all..." He trailed off, turning back towards the attic stairs.

"Be sure to come back Sunday night. I'd prefer not to have to go through the trouble of calling you to remind you," my tone was tinged with cheer, rather than the normally callous tone I took with him.

"Will do, kekeke." With that, he left, not sparing a backward glance.

I didn't give a shit, as my attention was immediately returned to the canvas bag, and I sat down on the edge of the tarp, my legs dangling out over the attic stairs as I began to dig through all of the treats. The first thing I picked up was that glorious hunting knife, my hand curling around the handle easily, and it fit in my palm as if it had been made for me. I tested the weight and the balance of the blade, extremely pleased with my conclusions, before I set it gently down onto the plastic wrapped floor, caressing along the cold metal with my gloves. Turning back to the bag, I lifted out various objects; a potato peeler, a mallet, trash bags, medical shoe covers. That made me pause, a frown marring my face as my brows drew together.

"Those would have been fucking useful before," I muttered to myself, mourning over my favorite steel-toed shoes that had to be disposed of. "I should make Undertaker buy me a new pair." With a huff, I tossed the shoe covers down, my fingers moving to run over the packaging of all the items; everything was new, freshly bought from the store, and I spotted a slip of white paper with small black writing. I lifted it up curiously and looked it over, realizing it was a receipt. I raised a brow before I placed it back into the canvas bag, sighing in annoyance at the man's intelligence.

I rifled deeper, spotting disposable raincoats, sewing needles, a lighter, a jar of formaldehyde, and pliers, all which I set onto the ground next to me to get them out of my way. A small black case caught my eye, and I lifted it up, grasping onto the zipper and tugging it all the way around before opening the leather. Inside was several syringes, all capped to keep them sterile. A few bottles of drugs were strapped in, and I slid one out, lifting it out to read the label.

"Cyklokapron," I read, searching my brain for more information. The name was familiar, and after a moment I recalled how Undertaker had taught me about it. Tranexamic acid reduced excessive bleeding by helping the blood to clot, which would suit me perfectly in my endeavors. This particular batch was highly concentrated thanks to Undertaker's meddling, so I wouldn't need to use as much as I normally would. The other bottle was a mild sedative that would keep a person subdued yet not knock them out nor dull the pain receptors. I set the case of drugs and syringes down before I ripped my leather gloves off with my teeth and pulled out a package of heavy-duty black rubber gloves, slipping on a pair and pulling them up to my elbows. The shoe covers came next, and I easily slid them over my shoes before I lifted out a raincoat, slipping it over my head. It hung from my person as though it were a dress; it was extremely oversized, but it protected every inch of my clothing and skin, as it should.

My footsteps were muffled on the tarp as I slowly walked over to the metal chair. My eyes flicked over her perfect form; her blue boot cut jeans hugged her hips and thighs tightly, flattering her shape, before they flared out slightly past the knees. Her pale pink shirt was almost like a second skin, hardly leaving anything to the imagination as it squeezed around her massive breasts, and the sharp v-neck of it dipped down, exposing her cleavage. Her throat was completely exposed as her head hung limply back, collarbones jutting prominently and tendons standing out in her neck delicately. Golden blonde curls danced down past her shoulders, nearly tickling her ribcage, and even after having been manhandled, her hair seemed to remain pristine, looking rather pretty while mussed. Elizabeth's dainty hands rested in her lap, her long painted nails glossy and sparkling. Her face was relaxed in unconsciousness, long lashes dusting flushed cheek bones, her petal-like lips parted slightly as she breathed softly. She was the ideal specimen in the eyes of men; tits nearly bigger than her head, tiny waist, wide hips. Any man would certainly collapse at her feet, and yet...

I couldn't believe my father had succumbed to this harpy's wiles, willingly walking into her disgustingly pink glitter claws. I was superior to this cunt in every single fucking way, and I knew that my father would be able to see it soon. Very fucking soon. I would make sure of that. I detested this fucking cow, this fat, insipid fucking waste of life. She was a fucking leech, living off of her parent's money and doing nothing with her life. She was working at a fucking grocery store, probably used her disgusting whore body to even get a job since she was too fucking ditzy to manage without the help of her "assets". I turned and walked back toward the canvas bag, picking up the black case, which I take over to and set it on the television tray. I select a syringe, and pull out the two bottles of drugs, popping the cap off of the sharp hypodermic needle.

"It's time to bring the cows to slaughter," I mutter darkly to myself as I stab the syringe into the vial. Withdrawing a small amount of liquid from the Cyklokapron, I tap the glass to work up the air bubbles before squeezing them out. Wouldn't want her to die prematurely, now would we? I stride calmly up to her, my gloved fingers brushing over the veins in her throat, before I stab the needle in expertly and without hesitation, and inject the fluid into her bloodstream. Taking a step back, I admire my handiwork as the blood from the small hole begins to clot. Smirking, I set the syringe aside, planning to save the sedative for when she was awake, as I couldn't have her remaining unconscious.

I moved to grab the canvas bag, returning everything to it besides the fragile jar of liquid, and then step back onto the tarp. I empty the contents onto the floor next to the tray unceremoniously, before I tossed the bag far out of the way to avoid dirtying it. I carefully took the formaldehyde off of the ground and set it on the ground, next to the tray's legs, hoping that it would be safe there. Pushing the items around, I grasped a small container of zip ties and a pair of shackles. The zip ties were standard heavy duty ones, but the shackles were customized for my use. How Undertaker had managed to get these for me on such short notice, I wouldn't know, but the man was sure to have many connections. I rose back onto my feet, walking calmly back over to the unconscious woman, and bound each of her wrists to either metal bar on the back of the chair tightly, making sure she'd have no way of wriggling free. Kneeling down, I tucked the raincoat underneath my calves and took a moment to study the craftsmanship of the manacles; they were circular, with apparatuses in which to twist to tighten them upon the wearer, though they did not have a hinge in which to open them with. That mechanism in itself was nothing special, but because of the four large, dangerously sharpened spikes evenly spaced around the inside of each cuff, the shackles became unique devices of torture. The spikes brutally impaled the ankles at four different intervals, efficiently inflicting as much pain as the user desired; the tighter they were made to be, the farther they were driven in, and could even break the tarsus by severing the cluster of bones. These customized manacles prevented the wearer from being able to walk without excruciating agony.

Lifting the heavy metal, I untwisted them with ease until they were opened far enough that her annoyingly slender ankles could be slipped inside. Focusing on the right leg first, I held the cuff in place as I began to twist the key, and I watched with interest as they began to close together. The metal barbs bit into the soft flesh, piercing it easily, a few droplets of blood running from the entry points before it clotted quickly. Elizabeth stirred slightly, a small groan of discomfort leaving her, but that was not enough for me. I wanted this fucking pig to squeal with an unforgettable agony. My hand was met with resistance of muscle and bone as I continued to twist the apparatus, driving the skewers halfway into her before I moved over to the other one. Rather than taking it slow, I turned the key as fast as I could, sending the prongs into her other ankle viciously, and a small whimpering yelp of pain left her lips. After I was satisfied with the state of the shackles, I dusted my gloves and stood up, looking up at her face, which was screwed up in discomfort. Her eyelids fluttered, and I watched as she came to, her fogged eyes rolling in their sockets as she glanced around her unfamiliar surroundings in confusion.

"W-where? Who?" She rasped, her normally high tone husky with sleep. As she slowly lifted her head, her clouded emerald orbs landed on me, and after a few long moments, I saw recognition light up in her irises. "You."

A cat-like smirk curled my lips, my teeth bared animalistically as a dark chuckle rumbled in the back of my throat. "So you recognize me? My, you've quite the good memory considering you only saw me once." I run my fingers over the many syringes absentmindedly, watching her begin to struggle against her bindings, the situation seeming to sink in as she winced from the shackles biting further into her ankles.

I can see fear etched across her face as she attempts to rise from the chair, but she is barely able to lift herself up before she collapses back into it, the sounds of bones crunching unpleasantly as she forces the spikes into them from her sudden movements pleasing my ears, and they are complemented by her sudden cry, tears filling her green eyes.

"W-why are you doing this?" She practically sobs, the moisture glossing over her orbs and making them glitter like emeralds before it pools over, rolling down her cheeks in wet trails of fear. Her breath stutters in her throat and she coughs softly, staring up at me pleadingly, as if praying that this is all a dream.

"Why? The answer is simple, really..." I turn my gaze away from her, bending over to pick up the pliers, my hand opening and closing them as I stare down at the metal, humming lowly, before I stride over to her with purpose, my eyes darkening with hate. My mind recounts the entire date, that appalling scent of her that lingered on his skin for what seemed like forever after their repulsive display on the hood of her car, the way she sunk her claws into him, and wrath the likes that I had never possessed rose up in me. I saw red, and I felt my face twist up in what I was sure was a mask of pure rage, my free hand tangling in her hair and yanking her head back as I grasped onto her diamond earring with my pliers firmly. "You stupid fucking cunt. How fucking dare you lay a single disgusting paw upon my father. He belongs to _me_ , _you filthy fucking whore._ "

"What are you talking about?! I haven't messed with anyone's dad!" She screamed, thrashing in the chair and trying to wriggle free, though she hesitated to yank her head away lest she cause the diamond stud to be pulled from its hole. "Please, don't do this!" Elizabeth begged, her entire body shaking like a leaf.

I tugged down harshly, blatantly ignoring her pleas and ripping through the soft meat of her earlobe, blood and bits of flesh sticking to the stem as the wound began to clot. I felt my jaw clench up in anger as I growled lowly, glaring harshly down at her face. "Don't play fucking dumb, you bitch. I fucking _saw_ you shoving your snake-like tongue down his throat at Rhonda's Place, as well as doing other horrifically unmentionable things..." I trailed off, my mind going back to that night and my stomach turning unpleasantly at the fresh memory of the way my father touched her and... I nearly gagged before I came back to myself, my rage now twinged with a deep sorrow.

My eyes glint menacingly in the light as I move to her other ear, my emotions reaching a crescendo, and I grasp onto the stud with the needlenose pliers, my grip so tight that my knuckles turn white. Genuine confusion twists her features as she looks up at me with terror-filled eyes, her mouth hanging open as she sucks in panting breaths. "S-Sebastian? I-I-I didn't know that he had a son. I had n-no-"

"Oh, don't you fucking lie to me. I'm his pride and joy; of course he would have told you about me." I wrinkled up my nose at her, leaning my head back haughtily as I eyed her with distaste. "However much of a cow you are, he certainly would have mentioned me." As punishment for her blatant lie, I jerked my arm down hard, yanking the diamond earring free in the same manner as I had the first. Elizabeth screamed, her head turning wildly in my grasp, trying to rip herself free as she lifted her hips up, body contorting from the pain. Tears and drool slid down her cheeks and chin, muscles tensing up as her ankles most certainly flared with agony at having weight put on them. She collapsed back into the metal chair, sucking in shallow breaths and releasing shaking sobs. It seemed she could barely handle this, and I couldn't wait to see her beautiful reactions to everything I had planned for her. She was in for a treat.

I laugh half-manically at the sight of her, my mask of sanity slipping away so fast that, had it been corporeal, I was certain it would have shattered into millions of pieces upon the tarp-covered floor. She was a fucking idiot if she thought that I would believe her. My father would never keep me hidden, he loved me too much for that. I released my hold on her hair and took a step back, my fingers flexing and adjusting their grip on the pliers, with full intent to set them down and be done with them. Her head dropped forward, her entire body trembling, and I wet my lips, satisfaction making a smirk stretch across my mouth, and I went to turn away from her to set the pliers upon the tray, but her emerald eyes caught my attention and made me give pause. They seemed dulled, as if she was lost in thought; I could practically see the cogs turning in Elizabeth's head, and I watched as they slowly came back into focus, and she blinked away a few tears, turning her gaze onto me. Her face was pleading and her expression sincere, and she furrowed her brows as she stared at me, her voice wavering softly as she spoke.

"P-please believe me, I had no idea. I... I wouldn't have went on a date with him if I had known. I-I don't date dads." She bit into her bottom lip as she watched me, looking for any sign that she had swayed me in the least.

Her words hit my heart, but not in the way that she intended. My father, not giving a single word to my existence? That statement seemed to be true, and they stung me deeply, hurting me beyond what I could have possibly imagined. Mentally shaking myself, I took a steady breath; I couldn't focus on that now, I would deal with it later, when I was alone. My thoughts returned to the rest of her plea. She seemed to be trying to convince me to release her; how laughable. While the first part of what she said may have been true, I could tell she was lying about the rest, and that only seemed to incite my rage further. I felt my face contort with loathing and wrath, my eyes hardening to ice. "You lying bitch. Any other piercings, hm?" I stepped back up to her, sliding my gaze up and down her form as I cocked my head to the side. "You look like a fucking slut; I bet you've got your bellybutton pierced. Am I right?" Without waiting for a confirmation, I yanked her shirt up, spotting the dangling metal owl, which hung from the bar of the piercing. Smirking, I raised a brow, grabbing onto the ball at the top with the pliers, my eyes flicking up to her face. "Well, it looks like you are a slutty fucking cunt."

"NO, NO, _NO STOP!_ " She cried, spit flying from her lips as she tried using all of her body weight to get free or throw me away from her, but I didn't budge. I was extremely strong, though I purposefully made myself look weak to avoid suspicion. I took my time with this one, tugging on it with increasing pressure, until she was practically keening, a gag catching in her throat from the pain. I watched with eager eyes as the metal leisurely split the flesh holding it in place in half, blood and meat clinging onto the bar as it came free. I stepped away, dropping all three piercings into the trash bag-covered bucket, a pleased sound rolling in my chest. She struggled to suck in air, her words leaving her in a begging whimper. "Please stop. Please. Let me go... I w-want to go h-home." Tears ran down her face, suppressed sobs making her shoulders shake as she hunched over herself, curling up as small as she could manage with her ankles and wrists bound.

"Isn't that too bad?" I turned away from her as my words made her cry louder, dropping the pliers onto the tarp with a thud, and I turned to the pile of random tools, looking them over. My eyes were immediately drawn to the beautiful hunting knife, though I push the thought away; I'll save that glorious weapon for later. Instead I pick up a curling iron, the barrel of it about 2 inches wide. Inspecting it, I notice that it is wireless and requires batteries, which I am grateful for. I was unsure if the attic had outlets and I didn't think my father would appreciate a bloody extension cord. Undertaker had thought ahead, having purchased the proper batteries for the wand, and I easily ripped open the package, before carefully taking out the curling iron; wouldn't want to damage the box. I slid the batteries into place before sealing the handle back up, and I turned back to her, smile on my lips. "Those can't be natural curls, can they? They're far too perfect, though it seems a few have become mussed. Such a shame." I clicked my tongue as if I were disappointed, approaching her slowly as I flicked on the power and turned it to the highest heat setting it allowed. "We can't have that. I'll have to fix it for you."

It didn't take the curling wand long to heat up considering it was fresh from the box and never before used, and once it had fully heated, I lowered it to her arm, pressing the barrel firmly against her skin for a few seconds. She let out a loud cry, jerking away from me as best as she could, trying to lean as far away from the curling iron as was currently possible for her. A perfectly cylindrical burn, red and irritated, raised upon her flesh from the contact, and I chuckled lowly with enjoyment. As I moved to press it against her, her mouth flew open and words began pouring out.

"Oh god, please no, no no." Elizabeth leaned as far to her right as she could manage, her chest heaving as she sucked in rapid pants, her eyes full of terror and locked onto the wand, her head shaking back and forth repeatedly.

I snarled at her, my brow raising as I gave her a condescending look, waving the curling iron alarmingly close to her face. I watched as she winced away from it, and I lowered my voice threateningly. "If you don't shut the fuck up it'll be worse. Now fucking hold still."

She clenched her jaw, snapping her mouth shut as she raised her gaze to my face and nodded once before she stilled herself. The fear on her face was delicious, and as I began artfully decorating her skin with first degree burns, I hummed to myself in thought. Perhaps it would be a fun game to make her disobey and then punish her for it. I began leaving the barrel against her skin with increasing lengths of time, watching as she fought not to squirm, a tiny whimper muffled in her closed mouth. Her eyes began to gloss over once more as pools of tears welled in them, and they slipped free from her lids, small droplets clinging to her lashes. I raised the wand to her collarbone, pressing it along the length of her clavicle, and held it there until I heard the sizzling of her skin and caught a whiff of the stench of burned flesh. She whimpered loudly, more tears spilling over and dousing her cheeks. One drop hit my glove, trailing through the small spatters of blood. Lifting the curling rod away, I study my handiwork: there are welts running along the bone, large and angry looking, pulsating slightly and sending agony radiating throughout her. The entire area was reddened and inflamed, the second degree burn looking positively wretched. It pleased me immensely.

"Not so flawless now, are you?" I asked her, a vicious grin pulling at my lips. Elizabeth's face wrinkled up in anguish and she shook her head slowly in agreement with me, a small sob ripping from her at the thought.

This satisfied me very deeply, and I wanted to make her feel like the ugliest, most grotesque creature to exist. I pressed the wand all along the lengths of her arms, leaving behind welts and second degree burns, though she still managed to keep her mouth shut and her body from trying to pull away. I nearly frowned; this wouldn't do. I wanted her writhing in torment, screaming and begging for it all to end. Without thought, I grabbed her hair and yanked her head sideways, exposing her elegant throat, before pressing the curling iron against it. Dragging it slowly down in a long line, I watched welts raise upon her pretty flesh, marring it and transforming it into a hideous wasteland.

She yelped in extreme pain, the sensitive area of her body causing more than simple discomfort, and her entire body tensed up, the sound of heaving hitting my ears as her stomach threatened to expel its contents from agony and the stench of scorched flesh. " _Please stop! No more! God, please!"_ She cried out, wriggling and squirming in an effort to stop the sensation, to move away from the hot object. " _PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!"_

"Ah, ah, it seems you don't know how to listen." I shook my head and sighed, giving her a sympathetic look. "I did warn you. You brought this upon yourself." That was the only warning I gave as I lovingly stroked my fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face and tangling my fingers into it. I gave her hair a harsh tug, pulling her head far back, before I placed the barrel directly against her exposed forehead. I held it there firmly as the minutes slowly ticked by, the only sounds in the room her bloodcurdling scream, the sizzle of cooking meat, and my dark laughter. After what seemed like hours I removed the wand, ripping away bits of charred skin in the process as I stepped away, my hand falling away from her golden locks. Her forehead now featured a repulsive third degree burn, some areas blackened, others an angry red, and blood seeped from the deep, festering wound as it began clotting. Large blisters were scattered around the injury, some having popped and oozing a clear pus down the bridge of her nose.

Her head fell forward as her entire body tensed up from the violent heaving, and she vomited directly onto her lap and the tarp in front of her feet, a sickening splat hitting my ears. Puke coated strands of her hair and glued them to her skin, and she released a low wail of agony, the pain and scent too much for her. She continued to heave, though her stomach was entirely empty and nothing was coming out. Choked coughs fled her lips as she sucked in ragged breaths, and she raised glassy eyes slowly to me as my feet shuffled softly across the tarp as I walked back over to the tray. I turned off the curling iron and set it down onto the metal, picking up the hunting knife. The serrated edge glinted in the light, and I caught her staring at the object in horror. The crotch of her jeans began darkening in a slowly growing circle, soaking her inner thighs as she pissed herself in fear. The dripping of urine on the tarp was very faint, and it began pooling beneath the metal chair into a small puddle.

Elizabeth shook her head slowly, her lips trembling as she whispered, "Please, no. No, God..."

"There is no god here," I stated flatly before I set the knife down. The sight of her bladder emptying itself out of terror was enough to tide me over for the night. Picking up a syringe, I filled it with the sedative and walked back over to her, injecting it into a vein on the uninjured side of her neck, before capping the needle and tossing the entire thing into the small bucket. She winced, though the drug began to immediately take effect, and her body went limp in the chair. Her eyes drooped, and she watched me lazily, her eyes slowly following my movements.

I grabbed a trash bag before I traipsed towards the edge of the tarp, leaning down to remove each shoe cover and stepping onto the plastic wrap, proceeding to throw them away. I pulled off the oversized raincoat next and shoved it into the black bag, before finally slipping my hands from the gloves and turning them inside out, disposing of them.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," I hummed lightly, not sparing her a glance as I set my foot onto the top step.

"W-wait," she started, hesitating as if she was thinking better than to speak. I turned my head and gave her an expectant look, encouraging her to continue and cease wasting my time. "W-what if I have to use the b-bathroom."

"Not my problem," I announced with a shrug, before I flicked my eyes down to her soaked jeans. A wicked smirk curled my lips as I tilted my head to the side. "Besides, it seems that you've got that already figured out." With that, I descended the steps and firmly shut the attic entrance.

I released a small yawn, stretching my arms over my head and popping my back as I began trudging down the hallway. I was exhausted, but I was in dire need to be clean. First things first, shower and then bed.

* * *

I had to choose. This was perhaps the biggest decision I was going to have to make today, and I had to make it count. It was going to affect how the rest of my day was sure to go, and a single error in my judgment and the entire day would lay wasted at my feet. I could feel my heart palpitate, pounding against my ribcage as a deep frown curled my lips. I was running out of time. I needed to decide, and I needed to decide now, before it was too late. My eyes flickered between the two choices, my brows furrowing in indecision.

"Come on, Ciel, now is not the time to waver. You must be firm," I said to myself sternly, mentally shaking away my dubiety. "Right." Clearing my throat, my eyes flickered between my options, before I brought a shaky hand forward and grasped onto my selection, knuckles turning white from how hard I gripped it. Swallowing hard, I nodded once as determination morphed my expression and filled me with resolve. "I'll have the Cheerios."

I did not want to end up with a sugar crash later on, nor vomit from the now overbearing sweetness, so I gave the Krave one final desirous look before shutting the cabinet and turning to pour the cereal into my bowl. I filled it a fourth of the way full, not wanting to push myself too far, yet feeling quite ravenous. My appetite had returned voraciously this morning, and as I had not been able to eat a single bite of food previously, I did not want to overwhelm my poor, shrunken stomach. Pouring in an even smaller amount of milk, I slipped a spoon into the bowl before stirring the Cheerios around unceremoniously, glaring hatefully down at the bland cereal. With a sigh, I surrendered myself fully, and brought a small spoonful of the cereal to my lips, chewing it slowly and thoughtfully as I leaned against the counter. Swallowing hesitantly, I braced myself for the urge to vomit that was sure to come, though I was pleasantly surprised that I was not nauseous at all; instead, I seemed even hungrier now that the food had hit my stomach, and I began carefully shoveling it into my mouth, quickly making work of the small bowl. I drank the dregs of milk before I set my bowl in the sink, making a mental note to take care of it later.

I had more important matters to attend to. I grabbed a large pot from the fridge, which was two-thirds full of chilled water that I had prepared the night before, before I opened the freezer and took out a bag of gas station ice. I smashed the bag onto the floor, breaking up the ice so that it would not just be one large chunk, and then tore open the plastic, dumping the contents into the pot. This brought the water level nearly to the brim, and after tossing out the empty bag, I carefully grabbed onto the precariously full pan, hands gripping tightly onto the metal handles. Striding out of the kitchen, being careful not to slosh the liquid around in order to avoid any spillage and slippage, I made my way painstakingly slowly up the stairs and headed down the hall once I finally reached the second floor of our house. Reaching the rope to the attic entryway, I set the pot down onto the ground momentarily, before taking hold of said rope and giving it a strong yank, pulling down the stairs. Picking the condensating container up, I tried not to jostle it as I strode up into the attic, my eyes falling upon my passed out prey.

The stench of vomit, piss, and the iron of blood attacked my nostrils, and I felt my breakfast turn in my stomach, my face wrinkling in displeasure. I pulled the drop-down stairway back up into the attic immediately, not wishing to infect my clean abode with the disgusting odor. Disinfecting the air would prove to be a challenge later. Disregarding that for now, I began methodically pulling on my clothing protection. I was once again wearing my old shoes, as I dare not stand in this filth barefoot; I would surely track up the house and leave evidence everywhere, as well as become much dirtier than need be. Once my gloves, shoe covers, and plastic raincoat were on, I hoisted up the now-freezing pot and walked over to the unconscious Elizabeth. Her head hung limply forward, hair stringy and clumping together in places hanging in front of her face. Dried blood and vomit speckled her skin and clothing, and her burns still looked gruesome and possibly infected, as the skin around them was an angry red. Without any preamble, I lifted the metal pot above her head and upended it, instantly dousing her in freezing water. The shock of the sudden cold made her jerk awake, gasping as her lungs spasmed in her chest, her body instinctively acting as though she had just fallen into a frozen lake. Her wide, delirious eyes flickered wildly around the room before they settled on me, and terror twisted her features into a hideous mask as she leaned back as far as she could, shaking her head back and forth repeatedly, tears already welling. I turned from her and brought the pan over to the attic entrance, setting it there to keep it contamination-free, and to remind myself to bring it down later.

She whimpered as her eyes followed my every movement, watching me glide over to my tray and toys, panicked pants fluttering past her parted lips as I began filling a syringe with the Cyklokapron. I lifted it and tapped up the air bubbles, squeezing them out and squirting some of the drug into the air. Facing her, I took my time walking over to her, staring down at her shivering form as she gazed up at me with a primal fear. My free hand grasped onto her soaked hair, using it to tug her head to the side, and as I stuck the needle into a vein, she sobbed softly.

"Please, just let me go," she whispered, as if it were a prayer meant for some heavenly being and not a plea for her captor to release her.

"Be a good girl and shut your fucking mouth unless you're being spoken to." My voice was saccharine sweet and cold, with an underlying threatening edge as I sent the drug into her bloodstream. She immediately clenched her jaw so hard I heard her teeth click and grind together.

As I stepped away from her, I found myself in the same predicament I had not so long ago; there was a choice to be made, and whatever decision I made would affect the rest of my day. I had to decide how to proceed with today's torture, as the only firm plan I had in my head was to disfigure her to the point of recognition being impossible. I wanted her to be the hideous creature in looks as I knew her to be on the inside. She was certainly rotting away, her intestines decaying from her horrid personality and her succubus-like ways. Her looks were a front to lure in unsuspecting men, and once she sunk her harpy claws into them, she was free to drain their livelihood before spitting them out, leaving them a mere shell of a human being. Women were foul beings, to be sure. I knew for a fact that, vapid or not, young or old, all women were exactly like _her._ I couldn't let my father fall victim to another Rachel.

Shaking my train of thought away, I frowned inwardly at myself; I had let my brain get carried away, forgetting about my prevalent need to make a decision. I certainly didn't have all day to choose. Focusing myself once more, I turned my eyes to the implements decorating the tarp. Normally the chaos of the items would send my OCD into a terrible fit, the scattered nature of the items somehow brought me a calmness, and my eyes settled onto a potato peeler. I bent down, picking it up almost reverently, and turned it in my hands, studying it. It brought back a warm memory for me, and I removed it carefully from its packaging. This was it, the perfect way to begin our time together today. Before I could begin using it, though, I had to remove her jeans, which were currently plastered against her skin. I grabbed the gorgeous hunting knife and approached her, watching her flinch in fright as I brought the menacing blade down toward her crotch. Turning it so that the flat side rested against her person, I slid it into her pants before turning it to use the serrated edge to easily rip through the denim fabric. She let out a small cry as she tensed up in preparation to be stabbed, though I merely continued to cut away her pants until I had completely removed them from her body. I tossed them down onto the ground carelessly, setting the knife back down upon the tray after removing any stray denim from the blade and throwing the fabric shreds into the makeshift trash bin. The peeler was once again in my hand, and after determining that the tranexamic acid had had enough time to take effect, I moved back in front of Elizabeth.

"Try any funny business, like kicking or trying to knock me away, and it will be the last thing you ever do," I growled in warning, my hard eyes boring down into her. Elizabeth shrank into herself, nodding silently as wide doe-eyes stared up at me before flicking down to the implement clutched in my gloved grasp. Slight confusion twisted her features, as though she didn't know what I would be using it for, but she certainly understood that it could only cause her pain.

My free hand steadied her leg, black rubber resting against her pale thigh as I bent over and hovered above it, assessing the area I had to work with. I gripped onto her flesh to make sure she stayed still, before resting the sharp peeler against her upper thigh. She watched on in horror as I applied pressure and dragged the blade down in a straight line, her skin coming up from the meat beneath like that of a potato. Her body tensed from the pain, and agonized sounds ripped from her throat as I lifted the peeler away. I grabbed the extremely thin slip of flesh, examining the perfect rectangular shape. Blood smeared over the creamy peach as my thumb gripped onto it, and a slow smile grew on my face. Daddy would be so proud at how far I'd come from the first time I had ever used this kitchen utensil. I tossed the strip into the wastebasket, the raw, bloody meat hitting the garbage back with a sickly wet smacking sound. The only disappointment I had with the peeler is that it took quite a few strokes to remove an adequate amount of flesh.

Elizabeth trembled as she did her best to remain docile, and I continued to remove strips of skin from her thighs and arms, exposing the stringy muscle and yellow fat by going over and over the exact same spot several times. Hushed yelps and hiccuping sobs fled her lips as her eyes shut tightly, and her mouth formed silent pleas for mercy, no words voiced as to not incur my wrath to avoid a worse fate. I took my time removing patches of her flawless flesh, no discernible pattern left behind. I had to exert quite a bit of force to get the peeler to lift away so much of her skin, even though the blade was exceedingly sharp, it was meant only for use on vegetables, not meat. Still, it was surprisingly efficient. Once I tired of this particular toy, I set it down and looked over her arms and legs. What blood had managed to well up oozed down away from the wounds, which seemed to weep trails of tears, though the majority of it clotted immediately. I rose to my feet and dusted off my hands, humming in satisfaction as I turned to select my new instrument of torment.

"Please, no more," whispered softly disturbed the air, small pants and gentle weeping fleeing Elizabeth as the words struck my eardrums.

Anger instantly engulfed me; I had told her to keep her stupid fucking mouth shut unless I specifically spoke to her. I had fucking _warned_ her. Apparently slutty fucking cunts didn't know how to fucking listen. Intent on teaching her a lesson, I snagged up a rope from the floor and circled around behind her chair.

"You stupid fucking bitch, don't you know how to shut the fuck up? I didn't give you permission to pollute the air with your fucking idiocy." I snaked the rope around her throat, wrapping it a few times around my gloved hands, before I started to tug on it, the braided fabric pressing into her windpipe. "I'll teach you how to fucking listen," I snarled like an animal as I yanked hard with both arms, my elbows jutting out behind me as I pulled the rope tight, restricting her lungs from drawing air. Her throat rattled as she fought to suck in a breath, her body thrashing and fighting as the lack of oxygen surely made every single muscle and nerve in her panic. I loosened it around her neck momentarily to allow her to pant and gasp, tears pricking at her eyes, before once again pulling the rope taut and cutting off her oxygen. I narrowed my eyes as I muttered darkly to myself. "I should be using a fucking wire."

I continued constricting and relaxing her windpipe, one moment crushing it so that no air could grace her lungs, the next, allowing her to suck in coughing lungfuls in a harsh punishment for her disobedience. Elizabeth's tears streaked her cheeks, and she shook her head as she rasped out, her voice already seeming to waver and fade from being compressed violently. "Please, p-please. I-I'll listen. I'll be quiet, so pl-"

I cut her off, pulling so hard on the ends of the rope that I was amazed I didn't sever her head from the sheer force. I threw my entire body into it, leaning back as far as I could and restricting her breath for so long that she very nearly passed out. Not wanting her to die so soon, I loosened my grip on the rope slightly, my lips pressed into a thin line as I leaned forward to glance over the front of her. Already a wicked bruise was forming all along the length of her neck, the splotchy deep wine and perse impressions of the braided fiber digging into her flesh. The ecchymosis stood out tremendously against the inflamed epidermis from being rubbed raw. I was certain the trauma on her vocal cords would last at least long enough to give me some fucking peace from her idiotic mouth running. Far from finished with her, I let her suck in enough lungfuls of oxygen to keep her conscious and among the land of the living, before I pulled the rope tight against her windpipe once more. Her body writhed like a worm, legs shifting and making the shackles dig into her ankles, her eyes rolling back into her head as the lack of air and the struggle to breathe made her face a purplish red. I almost considered letting Elizabeth die, but then I recalled all of the suffering that I had gone through because of her, and I knew that she had barely experienced the same kind of agony. Death would be a kindness that this whore didn't deserve.

I released my hold on the ends of the rope, letting it drop onto the tarp as I stepped back from her. Elizabeth breathed raggedly, her swollen throat constricting her air intake in a similar way that the rope had. I made my way back around her chair, glancing at her from my periphery as I picked up the glorious hunting knife; her face was streaked with trails of tears and saliva, snot dripping from her nostrils, and the discoloration of her cheeks was slowly fading as oxygen was reintroduced to her blood. Because of the damage to her throat, she couldn't beg or plead, or even cry out as I strategically began slashing at her skin. I placed them artistically, decorating the lengths of her arms, lacerating nearly every inch of her thighs. I took my time, enjoying the way the exceedingly sharp blade pierced skin, dragging it along in short or long strokes, almost as if I were creating a painting. The only sign that I was causing her immense pain was the contortion of her expression, her watery eyes, and the way she took shaking, shallow breaths.

Once I was bored of cutting her, as the blood clotted so fast that it barely even oozed down from the wounds, I cleaned off the precious blade before returning it to the tray. I opened a pack of sewing needles, picking one up and heating it with a lighter. Make no mistake, I didn't do this to sterilize them in any way as I cared not if she developed an infection, but because I wanted what was to come next to be as excruciating as possible. Still running the slim, pointed metal through the flame, I glided over to her and sunk down onto a knee, avoiding the puddles of various bodily fluids and ignoring the stomach-turning odor coming off of her. Flicking the zippo closed, I grasped onto her pinky finger, holding it tightly between two digits, before sliding the scalding needle beneath her nail and into the sensitive nailbed. I watched the slim metal slowly disappear as it pushed its way as far as the cuticle, and her nails were almost long enough to completely conceal the needle. The feeling was so unbearable for Elizabeth that an animalistic keening sound ripped from her throat in a most torturous scream, even though her vocal cords were most likely completely shot. Her hand tried to jerk out of my grasp, but the instinctual motion proved futile as the zip tie held it firmly in place. A cruel, delighted smirk twisted my lips, a feeling of satisfaction in my chest; it pleased me beyond imagining that her harpy talons were such a sensitive part of her. Thoughts began blooming in my head as I began picturing the most gruesome ways to capitalize on that, and I simply couldn't wait to inflict it upon her.

I took my time with each of her fingers, testing out different angles of insertion, as well as wiggling them around to make her squirm even further. I jerked one needle so hard to the left underneath one of her nails that I nearly severed it from her nailbed entirely, and half of it no longer attached. Blood spilled from the side, staining the glittery pink nail polish with rust, before it immediately clotted. After there was one needle sticking out of each digit, I paused in thought with a small hum, before I began treating the sensitive meat beneath the nails as pin cushions, shoving in as many as I could to see how many her fingers could hold. I ended up using half of the package of needles by the time I moved on to her feet. I yanked her shoes off of her before tossing them down, and immediately began giving her perfectly pedicured toenails the same treatment. Countless needles were sticking out of her toes by the time I was finished, her soft, rasping whimpers echoing around the room as tears splattered against the exposed flesh of her thighs. I raised myself to my feet, dusting off my gloves as I released a huge sigh, taking in the sight of the tormented Elizabeth, who cowered before me as any woman in her situation would be.

How completely and utterly dull this insipid blonde turned out to be. Really, I saw no reason why my father would have any interest in her at all. Perhaps it had merely been a pity date on his part. I bet she coerced him into it, with her disgusting tits and her shrill, ear-piercing voice. I gave her a look of disgust; how typical she was. When I demanded to be feared, she cowered before me; when I demanded obedience, she obeyed. Every word out of her mouth that hadn't been a plea had been exactly what she thought I wanted to hear, in an effort to save her fat ass. She reacted precisely as any other woman, and I found that to be excruciating boring. My face twisted in annoyance, and I kicked the leg of the chair, jostling her. Torturing her was supposed to be fun. She was supposed to show me that feisty fucking attitude she had, and give me all the more pleasure in crushing her spirit. I ripped off my gloves and threw them into the wastebasket before running my fingers messily through my hair.

"Boring, boring, _boring._ How fucking mundane," I muttered to myself, yanking on my silken locks. "I could fucking keel over from how fucking mind-numbingly drab you are." I turned on her, snarling like a caged animal.

"You sound just like your mother. You know she thought you were the most worthless cretin to ever exist. Now I can see why." As I heard Elizabeth's words, I froze, my fingers still tangled in my hair, and I flicked my eyes to regard her. Her face was streaked with tears, but it was contorted into an expression of such anger and hatred that I did not think a woman like her could ever possess. Her emerald eyes looked ever so much like their gemstone counterparts as they hardened with her sudden fury.

A shocked smirk curled the corner of my lips as my eyes narrowed slightly, and I snorted in derision. "Hah, so now you've grown a fucking spirit. You dare speak about that vile woman, do you? What the fuck do you know? You're just a blonde bimbo worth nothing more than a dry-hump." I uncurled my fingers from my blae locks, bringing them down from my head, a few strands still clinging to my hands, and I dusted them away. I selected another pair of gloves and began slipping them on, tugging them up to my elbows.

"I know that she got further with your father than you _ever_ could. Just think, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him having sex with her. I'm sure it was rough, wild. Everything you've ever dreamt of but can't have." Elizabeth herself smirked at me, the cruel quirking of the lips almost a mimicry of my own. The more I listened to her speak, the more I found that she sounded eerily like Rachel; instead of her normal lilting, higher-pitched tone, it had more of a deepness to it, almost robotic sounding, about as fluid as the assistant on a smart phone. It surprised me that she could even form a voice at all through all of the damage on her throat.

"You fucking _cunt._ How _dare you_. I'll have him, he will be entirely mine. He loves me, he wants me. I know he does, he just needs a little help." This might have been a bit of an understatement, as my father was perhaps one of the denser men I had ever met. That was inconsequential, however, as I had to defend myself against this two-cent whore. "And I have more of a chance with him than you ever will. I'll actually get his clothes off." At this I grinned at her maliciously. She would never again have a chance to touch my father, or have him in her. If she truly had wanted him that badly, she should have taken advantage of the situation. Too bad for her.

"Oh will you? That's funny, because the other day he didn't even notice your existence. He went along with his daydream about me, and was too busy trying to make sure our date would go perfectly that he forgot he even had a son. How pathetic is that." Her mechanical laugh made my ears ring, her head tossing back in amusement as she watched me with knowing eyes.

" _Hold your FUCKING TONGUE you BITCH._ " My fist swung out without me making a conscious decision to hit her, and my knuckles slammed directly into her cheekbone, sending her head jerking back. That would teach her to toss her fucking head in amusement. "You don't know a single fucking thing about him. He does love me. He loves me. You're a worthless cow!" I clenched my other fist at my side, trying to keep a hold on myself, my spine tingling with rage.

Elizabeth shot forward in her chair, spitting blood on my cheek. "He could never love you! No one could ever love you! You should've died years ago!" I could feel her spit oozing down my cheek, and disgust and hatred rose up in me. She had just made a grave mistake.

I wanted desperately to yank on my hair, but because I was wearing gloves, I could only bring my hands up before forcing them down, clenching them tightly. _"Shut up! SHUT UP!_ You're just like her! Just another fucking Rachel, trying to get in the way! He's _mine!_ My Daddy..." I glared at her, my entire body trembling as I narrowed my eyes, and I took a menacing step toward her, still trying to quell my hurricane of emotions, desperate to avoid losing myself. "I'll teach you a fucking lesson. How dare you speak to me this way."

"Mine. Mine, mine, mine. I can still smell him. I can taste him on my lips. Can you smell him on me, Ciel? The way he rubbed his body against mine was divine." She taunted me, and with bruises blooming on her cheekbone she still found a way to look at me with that loathsome amusement.

I heard an animalistic, guttural screaming, and I was shocked to find that it was coming from me. I completely snapped, launching myself at her, my fists flying at her face. I had no longer a single string of control over myself. "Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll fucking kill you, you fucking slut! You disgusting whore! I'll break your pretty face! He'll never look at you again without repulsion!" I punched her repeatedly, dead set on smashing up that which she seemed so proud of. Blood splattered against my raincoat, and I let out a drawn out battle cry and a string of expletives. You're mine, right Daddy?

_Right, Daddy? You belong to me. I'll show you Daddy, I'll break your pretty toy. I'll tear her limb from limb, snap every delicate bone. You're mine, Daddy. Mine, mine, mine. She can't have you. No one can have you. Only me. You'll learn from your mistake, won't you Daddy? You won't dare to go after another woman. I don't want to hurt you, Daddy... So don't betray me, and I won't have to._

I don't know how long I hit her, but by the time I had worn myself out, I was gasping for air, and her face was unrecognizable; it was completely swollen, teeth jutting out of her lips at odd angles. Bruises danced across the expanse, and as I slid from her lap, I looked down at my shaking hands, making sure the jagged edges of her teeth hadn't cut through them. I was lucky to find that not a single tear was in the heavy duty rubber. My knuckles ached terribly, and I ripped the gloves off to find that the entire expanse of my knuckles were covered in unsightly, dark bruises. I shook my head; it didn't matter. Nothing a little makeup wouldn't fix until they healed.

I needed to get out of this room before I lost it again, and with a deep breath, I strode over to a large mirror, dragging it across the attic on its wheels, and set it directly in front of her. I sneered in delight. "Not so pretty now, are you? No one could love a face like that, you hideous beast of a woman. Not even your own mother could look upon you without disgust." I laughed maniacally, harder than I had ever laughed in my life, until I ran out of air, and nothing but silent chuckles left my lips. I gasped, trying to fill my lungs as I bent over and leaned on my knees. Once I managed to get hold of myself, I straightened up, watching with a raised brow as she stared at herself with horror, tears welling up in her mostly swollen-shut eyes. "My Daddy will vomit at the sight of you now," I said, happy as a child, with a singsong tone in my voice. I turned away from her, the rattling sob in her throat the only indication that she had heard me, and I changed out of my protective gear before throwing open the attic and skipping down the stairs.

I slammed the entrance shut, making my way to the bathroom. I had to get her disgusting spit off of my face. Walking inside the bathroom, I flicked on the light and turned my face to the mirror, but stopped dead in my tracks as shock hit me like a bucket of ice cold water. I swallowed hard, my eyes widening as I took slow steps forward until my hips pressed against the counter, and I hovered over the sink as I leaned even closer. I turned my head slightly, staring at my cheek; where there should have been drying blood and spit, was the smooth expanse of my flesh, not a single flaw nor splattering of bodily fluid.

Dizziness swept over me, crashing in waves against my body as confusion wrapped itself like a vise around my brain, squeezing tightly. My lungs constricted, shallow breaths fleeing my lips, and I raised a trembling hand to touch my dry cheek. Why? She had spit on me, spit her disgusting blood on my cheek. I had felt it oozing down, even felt it drying and making my skin feel tight, cracking when I moved my mouth. My fingers stroked over the bare spot, my eyes laser-focused on it, and the world shifted out from beneath my feet. I felt myself falling, falling...

"Oh," I said out loud as realisation struck me. "I must have wiped it off." That must be it. I lost control of myself, and I could hardly recall everywhere I had struck her face. It would make perfect sense that I had wiped away her spittle in disgust while I was lost in violence. The world righted itself, and I could feel my lungs relaxing, sucking in deep and even breaths. My dizziness and confusion faded and a small, unstable laugh bubbled up. "Of course. Let's be rational, Ciel." Shaking away all of that odd uncertainty, I picked up my face wash, squeezing a dollop into my palm. Just because I couldn't see it didn't mean that there wasn't invisible residue, microscopic germs writhing on my cheek. I lathered the soap with cold water, before scrubbing it over my face, until my skin was red and oversensitive. Water splashed against my flesh until all of the scrub had been washed away. I hadn't bothered to pin back my hair, so by the time I was done, my fringe was sopping wet and clinging to my forehead. I grabbed onto the nearest hand towel and removed the excess water from my now ruddy visage. I tossed it onto the counter, not bothering to mop up the counter, small puddles decorating the surface messily with bits of face wash foam splattered onto the mirror.

Leaving the bathroom in disarray, I traipsed through the hall and down the stairs, making my way into the kitchen. It was already late afternoon, nearly what one would consider a proper dinnertime, though I decided to have a late lunch. My stomach was growling loudly and cramping fiercely from hunger. It really had been much too long since I had had an appetite, and I was going to take advantage of it by eating my favorite food. I really didn't feel like cutting up potatoes, so I strode directly over to the refrigerator and yanked open the freezer. As much as my father tended to prepare homemade meals, he did keep at least one package of frozen fries for me to make on my own, though he himself would never prepare them. I grabbed onto the jumbo bag and shut the freezer, turning and walking over to the oven. I preheated it to 400 before emptying half of the bag onto a large baking tray, spreading them out evenly and salting them to my tastes. I stood there, leaning against the counter, waiting for the oven to heat up while I gazed down at the cellphone clutched in my hands.

I was wondering how my father was doing. Did he miss me? Did he wish that he was at home with me rather than stuck with a bunch of idiots from work on a business trip? What if it wasn't a business trip? What if he was off seeing some woman behind my back, like he had been doing with Elizabeth? What if he hadn't bothered to contact at all since he left because he was too busy in the arms of some whore? _Don't be silly,_ I thought coolly, brushing those thoughts away. _Daddy won't ever betray me again. He's a good Daddy. Isn't that right, Daddy? You're going to look at me when you get home, aren't you? You're going to look at me. You're going to love me. Love me, and only me. Right? Right..._

The beeping of the oven, signifying that it was to temperature, drew me out of my thoughts, and I mechanically opened it, the heat washing over me as I shoved the tray onto the rack inside, shutting it gently. I set a timer for 20 minutes, and then made my way over to the fridge, pulling it open to grasp onto a cold can of Coke. It certainly was not my preferred soda, but it would do in a pinch. Plus, I could use the caffeine that was in it, as I had forgotten to make myself coffee this morning. I had been too focused on food. The satisfying crack of the perforated metal resounded in the kitchen as I opened the can, and I took a large swig from it, feeling refreshed as I brought the can away and let out a relaxing breath. I was finally coming down from the intense rage that had so recently consumed me; the sweat on my brow was drying, and my muscles lost much of their tension. My body felt as though it were made of jello, and I used the counter for support. I stood there, staring off into space as I let myself relax, my eyes lidding halfway as soft, deep breaths were inhaled and exhaled past my lips. Too soon, an annoying ache began in my lower torso, informing me that my bladder was full.

Flicking my eyes to the timer, I decided I still had enough time to use the facilities before it went off, and I set my Coke down before heading upstairs and into the bathroom. After relieving myself, I washed my hands, my orbs taking in the mess I had left in my prior visit. My senses had finally come back to me, and my face twitch with horror and disgust. How could I have left the bathroom in such disarray? I pulled out a few cleaning supplies, spraying the mirror with the special glass cleaner, before saturating the entire counter in some potent solution with bleach. Scrubbing hard with a sponge, I made sure to clean every inch of the surface, before rinsing the cleansing implement and wiping away the residue from the ceramic surface. Using paper towel, I rubbed the foam from the mirror with circular motions until it was literally squeaking with cleanliness. I rewashed my hands, giving a satisfied huff, before I left the bathroom and headed back downstairs.

By the time I returned, the oven timer had hit less than a minute, and not caring to be patient as my hunger was reaching painful proportions, I stopped it and yanked the oven door open. With an oven mitt, I pulled the tray out, setting it onto the stove-top, and shut the door before turning the knob all the way to off. I dumped the fries onto a plate unceremoniously, grabbed my Coke, and sat at the table, my legs crossing on the wooden seat. I scarfed down each and every fry, ignoring how they scalded my tongue, pausing every so often to take several gulps of Coke. Once my plate was empty, I belched, something that I normally would never do, but I let it slide this one time seeing as I was in a state of complete tranquility. Still hungry, I decided that dessert would be the best course of action. Rising up onto my feet, I walked over to the pantry and started climbing up the metal shelves, knowing that they could support my weight, and began pushing all the sweets on the top shelf around to search through them. My father liked to put all of the little snack cakes, candy, and the like on the very top shelf, out of my reach, as if to deter me from consuming so many of them. This hardly stopped me, as I was quite agile and had been climbing these shelves from the time I had begun living with him into the present.

Pushing Dad's oddly favored Sno Balls out of the way, my eyes fell upon the ultimate jackpot of cavity-inducing treats: Twinkies. My eyes lit up, and I grabbed onto the box, dropping down off of the shelf and clutching them to my chest. I absolutely adored Twinkies, and really all of the assorted snack cakes. The only thing I truly detested and found sickening were the Sno Balls, and that was because I actually had tastebuds. I ripped open the brand new box and pulled a twinkie out hastily, quickly unwrapping it and taking a bite of it. The soft cake and cream filling hit my tongue, and I was in heaven. I ended up sitting on the floor in front of the pantry, leaning back on one hand as I devoured the Twinkies. I ate the entire box.

* * *

After I had finished off the Twinkies, I did the dishes and cleaned up whatever mess I had made in preparing and consuming my food, and then made my way back up to the attic. I could hear her soft sobs even through the ceiling, which put a pep in my step. She must still be gazing at her grotesque face. She must be feeling so crushed; a woman's face is everything. Without physical beauty, they are worth nothing, especially when they had no intelligence to offer. I climbed up the final staircase, my eyes searching Elizabeth out; she was indeed staring at her reflection, seeming unable to tear her eyes away. One could barely make out a single human emotion on her swollen, mangled visage, though I could see the anguish in her expressive emerald orbs. I dressed in my protective gear, snapping the gloves after pulling them all the way up to my elbows, and slipped my shoes back on before placing the covers over them. I strode over to my tray, lifting up one of the syringes equipped with hypodermic needle, and filling it with the tranexamic acid.

Clearing my throat drew a petrified whimper from her, the sound rough and garbled up in her throat. I would be surprised if she could even manage to form coherent speech anymore with the way her broken and jagged teeth pushed through her lips. I hadn't noticed earlier but a few of those pearly whites had ended up scattered on the floor, knocked out from the force of my fist hitting her jaw. Her terrified eyes fell on me, widening as much as was possible, and she shook her head slowly as I began approaching, sounds of distress getting caught in her throat. It almost sounded as though she were begging for mercy, but I couldn't make out a word. Smirking, I injected the Cyklokapron into her jugular, humming softly to myself. I was sure that the previous dose was wearing off, and it needed to be replenished; as much as I enjoyed watching my victims bleed out, I didn't want her dying from blood loss. Not yet. I wasn't done with her.

As I waited for a sufficient amount of time to pass for the drug to kick back in, I grabbed onto a small wooden stool, encasing it in multiple trash bags to protect it, tying them off tightly until I was satisfied with the amount of layers covering it. Wood would be impossible to get any stains out of the grain, and I didn't want to take the risk of anything getting on it. I set it down in front of Elizabeth, the dulled thunk muffled by plastic and the fabric of the tarp, and I picked up my trusty pliers before seating myself. My feet were spread far apart so as not to touch any of the puddles of bodily waste, setting the pliers on my raincoat-covered thigh. I leaned down and began loosening one of the shackles before removing her ankle from it. Elevating her foot with one hand, I grasped back onto the pliers, yanking out the needles that had been glued in place by the clotted blood. Her leg jerked weakly each time I plucked out a small section of the metal, dropping each one into the wastebasket. After removing every needle from beneath her toenails of the one foot, I lifted up the other one, leaving it shackled. I repeated the process until both feet were free of sewing needles. Keeping the pliers in hand, I adjusted my grip and positioned the mouth of it at the free edge of the nail and clamped down on it.

With a swift jerk upwards, the sickening rip of meat hit my ears, the nail coming up off of the nail bed. An agonized cry left Elizabeth, and she writhed like a worm drying up in the sun. I twisted the pliers around, working the nail away from the cuticle until the entire structure was torn from its place. I could tell her torment was excruciating from the way her muscles spasmed involuntarily and her whole body seemed to curl in on itself as her back arched so sharply her spine should have snapped. Elizabeth threw her head back, her matted and stiff hair ripping away from her skin from the sudden motion.

I could feel a grin spreading over my face, my eyes lighting up as I watched her moan and squirm. She truly was vermin, a bug to be squashed beneath my foot. She wriggled just like an insect, her limbs thrashing in an almost centipede-like manner. I hardly believed that a human could contort in such a way and it was happening right before my eyes. I was almost mesmerised by those fluid motions, watching her slowly cease as the pain became a persistent throb, lessening to a dullness as her brain sent signals to nerves in an effort to minimize her suffering. I certainly could not allow her a single moment of peace, so I gripped harder onto her ankle, causing her to wince from the shifting of her tarsals, and I tore off the second toenail, not nearly as cleanly, some bits of nail still stuck to the bloody flesh. Elizabeth screamed her throat raw as I slowly made my way to her pinky toe. Some nails I took my time on, enjoying the clean tear, the nail whole and undamaged with cuticle attached; others I yanked off harshly, wanting to see that mesmerising vile bug dancing in agony.

I took a small break, leaning back to watch Elizabeth in her convulsing dance; she truly reminded me of a centipede, and I almost wished that I had thought to get one to let crawl around in her ear, see how bug-like she could become. Pushing away that small disappointment, I turned to her other foot, yanking it up by the tarnished and tainted shackles, tearing another raspy yelp from her as I was as rough as I could possibly be. My hold on the pliers shifted so as to provide my hand with more comfort, and this time I decided to start with the pinky and work my way in. With ease I popped the nail up like the tab on a soda can, the ripping sound it caused was very different from that cracking pop, though not any less satisfying. Rotating my wrist, I loosened the keratin structure from the last bit of nailbed that was holding it in place, removing it cleanly. I studied the curvature, the cuticle, still attached to the bottom of it, before tossing it away. Too many parts of her were pretty; they had to be damaged beyond repair, so that she would forever be as grotesque as she was on the inside. I didn't spend as much time on that foot, taking as little care as possible, and ended up with patches of nail still stuck to the meat beneath, cuticles jagged and chunks of flesh missing.

My eyes flicked up to the hands bound at her sides, head cocking to the side. I had to remove those harpy claws of hers, so that she would never again be able to hook them into another victim. She would never be able to drag my father down again. I eagerly began removing the needles from beneath the sparkling pink talons, excited to start extracting them from her fingertips. If it had hurt her toes so immensely, it had to inflict a pain more intense to her digits. Once every needle was gone, I immediately clasped the pliers onto her index nail, assessing it to decide how exactly I would rip it off. Should I yank forward? It was sure to rip more chunks of meat off that way. Or should I continue to pop them upward? That seemed to be excruciatingly painful. After contemplating for a few moments, I licked my lips and settled on trying each to see which made her dance for me more. I tightened my grip on the handles, making sure that the nail was held firmly between the clamp of the pliers, and I tensed my muscles up, ready to begin harshly pulling. Sucking in a breath, I began to jerk my arm back-

-and froze completely as the familiar ringtone began to chime, my back pocket vibrating with a frenzy. My father was calling me. I blinked, letting the pliers drop from my hands as I quickly scrambled to my feet and began yanking my gloves off, tossing them down carelessly as my now bare hand began sifting through plastic, searching for the fabric of my jeans. Finally, I found my pocket, my fingers clutching onto my phone like a lifeline, before I yanked it out and looked at the screen, ready to be deceived by my own desires. Warmth spread through me as I read _Daddy Calling..._ scrolling across the screen, though my smile fell as I hesitated to answer. Wouldn't he have called me last night, or any time during the day, if he had really wanted to talk to me so badly? It was already nearly 7 o'clock at night.

I brushed off those negative thoughts. I was sure that he had just been busy; it _was_ a business trip, after all, and they were sure to be bustling around doing whatever the fuck they were required to do. I had a feeling that he was probably miserable with boredom, having to give up his weekend simply because his boss deemed it so. Ceasing my hesitations, I moved my thumb, letting it descend to the accept call button, and just as I am about to hit it, Elizabeth speaks up.

"Oh, is that my Daddy calling~?" I freeze, rage hitting me like a bucket of ice cold water, before coiling in my gut and making me sick with hatred. In the back of my mind I wondered how she had managed to speak so clearly and so coherently through her broken face, but I barely paid that thought any attention.

Raising my gaze to her, my phone went silent as I missed his call, lowering my arm to my side. "Pardon me? _Your_ Daddy?" My voice was full of incredulity as my brow quirked. I slid my phone back into my pocket, reminding myself to get hold of him later.

Her mangled face somehow managed to portray a smug expression, her emerald eyes darkening with a cruelty that could rival my own. "He was never yours, you know. He never will be. Yet he was so eager to be mine after a single day. Why do you think that is? Is it because you're ugly? Maybe it's because your father thinks you're getting fat. He _did_ say that you felt heavier."

Her vicious words hit my skin and burst upon it like petals made from sharpened steel, each one causing my insecurities to flare up. I shouldn't have eaten as much as I had. I shouldn't have dared to let a single Twinkie even brush against my lips. My eyes flicked down to my stomach, picturing it bulging over the hem of my skinny jeans, button straining against the fat, trying its hardest to hold it all in. I suddenly felt sick, my stomach twisting and rolling uncomfortably, practically begging for me to spill its contents everywhere. I was disgusting, a sickeningly obese creature. I never wanted to eat again; each morsel that had touched my tongue was an explosion of calories. I knew it. I knew Daddy thought I was fat. Rightly so, because I was. I was grossly disproportionately wide considering my short stature. How could a man as fit as he was ever desire someone so horribly overweight. I wanted to vomit, the anxiety gripping my heart in a choke-hold, threatening to make me black out. The world spun and spun, dizziness overtaking me. I felt myself sway dangerously towards the tray, and subsequently, the hunting knife. The one thing that seemed to make my panic and self-loathing subside, even if only momentarily, was my burning fury. It consumed me in a vengeful fire, using each and every thought of insecurity as fuel. It burst forth from me like a fiery explosion, my body trembling from the force of the uncontrollable emotion swelling and pouring out of me.

"How fucking _dare you_! You vile fucking temptress. What is so desirable about you?!" My eyes flicked up to take in her blonde hair; I recalled how it had been shiny and smooth, the way the light managed to make her ringlets look like spun gold. It may be matted and filthy now, a shadow of its former glory, but when properly taken care of, her blonde hair was silky and full of volume. Elizabeth very nearly had the flaxen tresses of _that woman_. It was only a few shades too light, but that was hardly discernible to the less-than-critical eye. To me, it looked too much like _her_ hair, and it sickened me all the more. I felt as though I were standing in front of Rachel once more. My fists clenched, and I ground my teeth together to stop myself from stomping my foot like a petulant child. "Daddy is _mine._ Mine, mine, _MINE._ He has always been mine, _will_ always be mine. He loves me. He does. I know it."

"He doesn't love you. Admit it, you know you're disgusting. You don't even compare to me. Look at you, you're as flat as a board. Your Daddy likes curves." To emphasize her statement, she released a flirtatious giggle that made bile coat my throat, and I nearly vomited when she began wriggling sensually, showing off her curvaceous figure.

I could feel myself snapping again, losing control. I barely recognized the voice that left my mouth as my own. " _Fuck you! I'll teach you a fucking lesson!_ _Let's see how PRETTY you are when I've finished with you! I'll take EVERYTHING from you!"_ I stood there, cold sweat beading on my brow, gasping and panting for air, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. My next words came out in a whisper, each one forced past my teeth as if I were struggling to form words. "Like you tried to do to me."

I turned away from her, my eyes pricking with water, but I quickly blinked it away. I would not let my prey see any of my weaknesses. Let her try and poke holes in my armor; I'll keep every painful emotion hidden away behind my mask, where they should be. I was the predator here; she was my victim, my toy. Gloves were pulled onto my hands, and I quickly disposed of the previous ones I'd thrown on the floor. I hadn't planned on my next course of action, but her outburst of mouthiness decided it for me; the hunting knife sat on the tray, glinting comfortingly in the light. I picked it up, turning it this way and that, letting it relax me. I would need a steady hand, after all. I was feeling particularly violent and murderous, and it would have been so easy to slit her throat and let her die. But I couldn't allow such a merciful death; if she was going to die, it would be in the most horrifically brutal way possible. Prior to that, I would inflict the most excruciating torture upon her, until I was fully sated, as a cat would toy with a mouse. Striding over to her, I lifted my chin haughtily before grasping onto a section of her hair and yanking her head up by holding the lock straight. I lay the knife at a low angle, the sharp edge of the blade resting just against her hairline.

It was as easy as sliding a spoon through softened butter; the hunting dagger cut into the flesh of her scalp, my hand pushing it forward and sliding beneath the flap of recently detached flesh. I curved my wrist upward and completely removed it. Elizabeth thrashed about in the chair, her throat making non-human sounds, hardly even recognizable as a scream. I held the chunk of meat and hair aloft, waving it in her face as a vicious grin split my lips; it was so wide that I was sure I'd ripped my cheeks open. Smacking her with her own skin, I left a smudge of congealing blood across her cheek, before I threw the lock, scalp and all, into the trash bin. I artfully removed patches of hair still attached to flesh, not desiring to completely scalp her, only to remove enough hair that she looked as if she had mange. The blood clotted thickly on the skull, soaking into her hair and making it stick to her remaining flesh before it fully congealed. Her tortured moans were husky and broken, her throat raw from repeated abuse, from both her constant screaming and my previous strangulation.

I paused to admire my work; her hair was barely recognizable as blonde anymore. The golden matted locks were stained from her blood, having turned the color of rust. Large chunks of meat were noticeably missing, and no amount of styling would ever fully hide the hideous scar tissue that would have remained. I cleaned off the hunting knife with a sanitary wipe, removing all traces of blood and flesh, before tossing the square cloth into the waste receptacle.

As odd as it might be for me, I was beginning to feel the tedium of the lesser tortures. I had grander plans for the coming day, ones that I could not wait to begin, but for those I needed to be in pique condition. A full night's rest was in order if I wanted to have the proper amount of energy to carry out my desires. I pulled off one of my gloves to check the time on my phone, and after a small internal debate, I decided that using one of tomorrow's methods as a finale of sorts to end the night wouldn't hurt. Besides, I wanted ample time to carry out every act I had in mind for tomorrow; I didn't want to rush, but I could only do so much in a given amount of time before my father came home. If worst came to worst, I would have to wait to finish until after he retired to bed. If luck was on my side, he would have no need to enter the attic tomorrow at all. I had no worries about Undertaker showing up at the wrong time: the man had a knack for appearing exactly when I needed him. It had been that way since our very first encounter. However weird and unnerving it may have been, I still appreciated his efforts to lend a creepily long-nailed hand.

Tucking my phone away once more, I very carefully slid my hand back into the thick rubber, careful not to get any of Elizabeth's DNA on me. I grasped onto a meat tenderizing mallet that rested near my feet, shifting it in my palm to have it perfectly balanced. I took a few practice swings through empty air, the heavy metal cutting through it with a sharp _whoosh_ , displacing the pungent oxygen around us and sending the settled odor particles whizzing through the air. Once satisfied with the force in which I swung, I grabbed my covered stool and moved it in front of Elizabeth, lifting her unshackled leg up and placing her foot atop of the black trash bag. I studied her once perfect leg, noting the evenly spaced holes in her ankles, the long rectangles of missing flesh, and the dried blood coating and chipping off of her creamy skin.

I undressed her small foot with my eyes, mentally removing skin, tissue, muscle, ligaments, until all I was left with was bone. I could picture them perfectly; in total, there are 26 bones in the human ankle and foot. A collection of seven tarsals made up the ankle, and connected to them 5 metatarsals, making up the majority of the foot. The toes were formed from 14 individual phalanges. I deeply regretted the fact that I would not be able to break her femur, tibia, and fibula, as I had nothing heavy enough to do much damage, nor was I strong enough to break them on my own. Instead I decided to inflict the intended havoc upon the arm; my eyes rose up to study the slim limb, imagining her flesh melting away in the same manner as I had done with her foot. The humerus, located in the bicep area, was considerably smaller and weaker than the femur, and could be snapped easily enough with the right amount of force. Likewise, the radius and ulna that composed the forearm were just as weak, if not more so; if I recalled correctly, the most common bone fracture to be reported occurred within the upper limbs. The three bones that were the constitution of the appendage were affixed in the center by three joints that formed the elbow: the humeroradial, the humerounlar, and the proximal radioulnar.

After I finished studying her appendages and choosing the best course of action, I grabbed onto her thigh and calf, forcing her to bend her knee. I placed the sole of her foot flat on the stool, and held it in place by firmly grasping her ankle. It didn't take much force at all to mold her limb in the way that I wanted it to go, for Elizabeth was very nearly passed out. She was reaching the point of not being able to handle much else, but I could not have her fall asleep on me now. I wasn't yet done playing with her. I ignored her near comatose state, as she would rouse soon enough.

I started with the toes. The mallet came down hard and fast, completely pulverizing the bones in her first two toes. The snapping sound of bone breaking echoed around the room, mingling with animalistic cries of the newly awakened Elizabeth; the pain had ripped away whatever small peace she had been about to receive in the form of being blissfully asleep. I made my way through the remaining three toes, slamming the utensil down several times to ensure proper breakage. She stared up at me with tears pouring down her face, those emerald eyes pleading for relief, for one small ounce of mercy. She searched me for any sign of humanity or compassion; we both knew she had found none when I gave her the most pleasant smile I could muster, and proceeded to smash the metatarsals in her foot into oblivion. She sobbed and choked on her own breath, her throat still constricted and raw. Her head bowed, unable to meet my gaze any longer.

There were 26 bones in the ankle and foot... and I intended to break them all.

The ankle was a bit harder to manage, but after grabbing hold of it and jerking it to one side as brutally as possible, it gave a sickening crack and pop, a broken chunk of jagged bone ripped through her skin, the white stained pink with blood. She fought as hard as she could, the agony far too much for her to endure without the fingers of insanity loosening the hold of logic. Elizabeth yanked ferociously on her hands, making the zip ties bite into her flesh and rub her wrists raw. Her head fell forward and she vomited, bile the only thing that spilled from her lips, as she had long ago lost the contents of her stomach. She heaved violently, her entire body quaking and trembling from the force in which her stomach contracted. I yanked her leg out harshly, laying her ankle out on the stool, and gripped onto her leg to keep it still as I could manage with the way her body writhed. I began hammering away at the tarsals, swinging the mallet downward as hard as I possibly could. I could hear the bones grinding together, cracking and shattering into millions of unfixable pieces.

Elizabeth's head lolled, her eyes rolling back in her head though her lids remained open; she had momentarily blacked out from the excruciating pain that radiated out from her foot. I kicked her leg off of my stool, studying the mangled appendage. Already dark, angry bruises were forming from the abuse, but they were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I took everything off of the tv tray, setting it on the ground for now, before I brought it over to her side. First things first, I took her arm in my hands, one gripping her bicep as the other held tightly to her forearm, and I positioned my leg so that it was resting just beneath her elbow. With one swift, brutal motion, I brought my knee up as forcefully as possible, slamming it into her elbow and efficiently severing the joints. The violence of my movement pushed bone through the inside of the junction of her arm, and it tore the flesh audibly, the sick ripping sound of meat seeming to linger. Elizabeth heaved harshly, her breathing so shallow it barely resembled breathing at all. She panted like a dog and seemed on the verge of passing out.

Backhanding her, I snarled, "Don't you fucking fall asleep. We're not done yet."

Using scissors, I cut the zip tie from her wrist and laid her arm out on the table, tying it down with rope so that she wouldn't be able to pull it away, not that she possessed the strength to do so. My fingers grasped back onto the mallet's handle, and I tightened my hold on it as I raised it over my head. I targeted the ulna first, as it was the smaller of the three bones, and would shatter much more satisfyingly. I brought it down like a hammer of justice, pounding her flesh as hard as I could manage. I soon heard that shiver-inducing crunching and snapping of the bone, but I was far from done. I took my time smashing it into as many pieces as possible, before switching my ministrations to her radius. It got the same treatment, shattering into thousands of pieces. I set the mallet aside on the tray momentarily, then untied the rope, picking up her limb. I began slowly twisting her entire forearm in a clockwise motion, having to exert a majority of my strength to even get the tissue to budge. One might think that it barely took any exertion at all to twist flesh, yet it actually required an almost inhuman amount of strength to even get it to move, let alone to spiral it. I was disarmingly weak and fragile looking, and I used that to my advantage; someone who looked as dainty as I could never be capable of such horrible violence. Truthfully, I had been strength training on my own under the careful guidance of Undertaker from a young age; I was nothing but hardpacked muscle beneath my skin, a fact that I kept perfectly concealed in order to remain undetected.

Splinters of bone pushed up through the rubber-looking flesh, piercing skin and causing Elizabeth to stir and scream brokenly. Blood spilled from each puncture sight, and the tiny slivers of white stood out from her at varying lengths, up to an inch. Satisfied with the state of her forearm, I picked the mallet back up off of the tarp and gave her a cold smirk.

I ignored Elizabeth's now nearly silent cries, her body shaking like a leaf. I pounded the heavy meat tenderizer into her bicep, in the same exact spot, until the telltale snapping hit my ears. It was indeed the stronger of the three, taking more effort and several long moments to manage, and by the time I had broken the bone, sweat was beading at my brow. I was hardly done with the humerus, and moved up, aiming at another spot and swinging downward as hard as I can. I used as much brutal force as I could, wanting this to hurt as much as possible. I knew I had managed when Elizabeth's torso curled forward and she began gagging and dry-heaving, her bile already coating her legs. I twisted her elbow around, having it jut out at an impossibly wrong angle.

Sucking in panting breaths from the exertion, I dropped the mallet, letting it hit the attic floor with a muffled thud, and hovered over her. With the last of my strength and adrenaline, I grabbed onto her upper arm and expertly twisted until her it resembled the lower section, visibly removing her shoulder from its socket with a loud, cringe-worthy pop. The final blow was too much for Elizabeth to bear, and her entire body went limp as she slipped into unconsciousness. She was free of me for the rest of the night.

* * *

After I had closed up the attic for the night, I lazily made my way towards the bathroom, knowing a shower was necessary if I wanted to crawl into my bed. As I headed down the hall, I pulled out my phone, remembering that I had to let my father know that I was sorry for missing his call and reassure him that I was perfectly fine. The last thing I needed was for him to call the cops in his worry for me, or worse, rush home and find Elizabeth in our attic before I was fully done with her.

My eyes widened a bit as I noticed I had received a text message from him, not realizing that he had sent it around the time I missed his call. I quickly opened the text, a joyful smile pulling at my lips and my heart fluttering in my chest as I read the message several times: _Hey Ciel, is everything all right? I'm not trying to be overprotective, just checking on you. You know you can call if you need anything. Love you._

My smile fell momentarily; I felt extremely guilty now for doubting his love for me. Of course he cared about and missed me, he was my Daddy. I couldn't believe I had missed his call, purposefully, for that matter. I never missed his calls, no matter what. It was eating at me, and I almost dialed his number, but I stopped myself. He was most likely already asleep, and I didn't want to risk waking him. As much as I wanted to hear his voice and reassure myself that everything was all right and I was forgiven for missing his call, sending him a text message would be best. I quickly typed out the message, my thumbs speeding over the keys, and I read over everything before hitting send, to make sure it sounded perfect.

_Everything's fine, Daddy! I'm just working on my homework. I promise I'll call if I need anything. I love you. <3_

I wasn't normally the type of person who used emojis or included hearts in my messages, but when it came to Daddy, it was entirely different. Even if he was an older man and wouldn't add them himself, I'm sure it still felt nice to receive, and it was one of the ways I tried to convey my love for him, however stupid and teenager-like that was.

Satisfied with my response, I put my phone back in my pocket and made my way into the bathroom. I was ready to unwind and relax for the night.

* * *

I lifted the hunting knife up away from the whetstone, studying the freshly sharpened edge. It glistened in the light filtering in through the window, and I smiled at my extremely blurred reflection, admiring the exquisite shape of the blade. I set it down gently onto the tv tray, selecting a fresh pair of gloves that I slid onto my hands. I used a pair of scissors to cut the remaining zip tie off of Elizabeth's wrist, and then grabbed onto each of her arms, yanking harshly so that she toppled out of the chair and onto the floor with a heavy thud. The entire movement of her body, added to the fact that I was pulling harshly onto her recently broken arm, woke her abruptly from her slumber, and she whimpered weakly from the impact, the tarp hardly cushioning her fall. Once I had her on the floor, I dragged her forward so that her body was splayed out, rolling her over so that her back was resting on the blood-stained blue urethane-coated canvas. She looked up at me, her emerald eyes dulled with pain, and she sucked in shallow pants of air. I injected her with half of the dosage of Cyklokapron that I had been giving her.

I studied her disfigured expression, the way she trembled with fear and dread of what was to come. Her mind was very nearly broken, and I would relish in snuffing out the light in her eyes. I slid into a raincoat, letting it drape over me, before leaning down to pick up the breast ripper that Undertaker had included in the bag of toys. How the man had managed to get his hands on a few medieval torture devices, I wouldn't know. Perhaps he robbed a museum or some such nonsense. I didn't care to question it too much, as it wasn't important. What was important was that I now had a tool to remove her prized assets.

I couldn't blame my father for being attracted to her large breasts; it was in the male's nature. It hurt me to think that he may never recognize his true feelings for me because he was blinded by a female's wiles and sexualized form. I could never have these on my person, those disgusting balls of fat resting on their chests, but I could remove hers. I tested the device, opening and closing it. The four prongs were quite sharp, sliding together neatly. I smiled, pleased that I would be able to use such a historic item. Turning back to Elizabeth, I ripped open her filthy shirt easily, unclasping her bra and tossing it into the trash. Her breasts were completely exposed to me, caked with dried blood and bile that had soaked through her thin top.

Jumping right into it, I lowered the ripper down, hovering over her as I rested the cold metal against her ribcage, around her tit. Once I had it fully encircled, I used both hands to squeeze down onto the contraption, locking it onto her flesh. The teeth punctured into her skin and fat, and I straightened my spine out as I yanked harshly upwards. The sound of meat tearing mingled with her screams. Her throat had still not recovered, so her cries were raspy and low. Large chunks of her flesh came free, sliding down her torso, flopping onto the floor, and blood began clotting as fast as it had started to spill. I stared down at her disfigured breast, the dehydrated piss-yellow of the fat standing out sharply against the deep red of her blood. I laughed manically as she writhed on the tarp like a worm, lifting up a few pieces of newly removed meat.

"No more curves for you," I chuckled darkly, dumping the chunks away with the rest of the waste.

I used the same method to remove most of her other breast, disposing of it just as easily. Her skin paled beneath the deep bruising on her face, and she gagged on bile. I kicked her roughly, rolling her onto her side so that she wouldn't drown in her own vomit. After she was done I shoved her onto her back once again, watching her struggle to draw breath as sweat coated her skin with a sickly sheen. I leaned down to pick up the bottle of lavender-scented lotion from its place on the floor amongst the devices I had been using. I twisted off the cap, wafting the scent of it up to my nose.

"You seem to really like this aroma," I commented, not really expecting her to be listening to me. "You certainly coated yourself in it that night in the restroom." I lowered myself onto her, making sure the raincoat provided sufficient protection as I straddled her waist. Elizabeth stared at me with the barest hints of confusion in her green eyes, and I set the pump onto the tarp, swirling the creamy contents around the container. I leaned down close to her face, letting my breath hit her skin as I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. "It clung to him like the stench of vomit. I wonder if it tastes as horrid as it smells."

I gave her a vicious smirk as I pried her mouth open, forcing it wide and keeping it that way with my fingers. I upended the bottle, dumping the contents into her mouth, watching the white liquid hit her tongue. She gagged and choked, sputtering on it and sending it spraying over my raincoat. I held the bottle secured with the hand keeping her mouth open, and used the other to pinch her nose shut. She had no choice but to swallow the lotion, her stomach heaving beneath me as it tried to reject the chemical-filled liquid. I backhanded her harshly after I removed the bottle from her mouth.

"You're going to fucking keep it down. Tell me, does it taste revolting? Just like the stench of you, it's sickening. You make me want to vomit." Against my better judgment, I gathered up as much saliva as I could muster and spit directly in her face. Elizabeth sobbed and gagged, shaking her head as she shook with fear.

I leaned away from her, reaching out and picking up a stray spoon, and took hold of a jar of formaldehyde. After unscrewing the lid and setting it close enough that I could reach it but far enough that it wouldn't be knocked over, I righted myself atop her. I turned the spoon around in my hands, humming to myself as I tilted my head to the side. Now would be as good a time as any to withdraw Undertaker's payment. He more than deserved twice the normal amount for all of the assistance he had given me in the past few days, not to mention the fact that the last item I had given him was not the normal exchange for his services. I was sure that this would more than make up for everything, and hoped that he wouldn't see the need to send me on one of his "errands". It wouldn't be so bad if I were getting paid to run it for him, but seeing as how he would view it as my owing him, I wouldn't see a single cent. Brushing off those thoughts for now, I returned my attentions to the task at hand. This was always the most interesting part.

I pried her eye open, holding the lid firmly out of the way, before slipping the spoon inside, circling around the orb with the concave curve of the metal. She bucked like a wild horse, her entire body convulsing as she thrashed, but I held her head still, not wanting to damage the eyeball in any way. I wonder what it looked like and felt like to her, having her eye slowly popped out by a cold metal spoon. I twisted my wrist, and with a small slurp, the orb slid free of its socket, dangling by the optic nerve and extraocular muscles. I did the same with the other, rotating it around in the socket, loosening up the eyeball, before tilting the spoon like a lever and watching it pop free. Once both were out and tangling, I rose to my feet and walked over to the tray, picking up my hunting blade. She cried and screamed, her stomach heaving up lotion, which she choked on and swallowed back down before she could vomit or asphyxiate on it. I strode confidently back over to her, bending at the waist and picking up the delicate sphere, slicing the muscles and nerve to completely sever the eye. I dropped it into the formaldehyde, turning back to the other orb and cutting it free as well. Once both eyes were in the jar, I twisted the lid back on and lifted it up, studying the floating emerald irises with a low hum.

"I don't know what Undertaker sees in these. They're hideous." I set the jar on my tray, turning back to regard Elizabeth; she was practically foaming at the mouth, spit flying up and splattering on her face. The optic nerves and extraocular muscles lay against her bruised cheeks, and I looked down my nose at her like the scum she was.

I picked up an extra large bottle of hydrogen peroxide, quickly twisting off the lid. "This is peroxide," I said, quoting my memory. "We wouldn't want you to get an infection." I dumped the entire contents all over her, watching the liquid splatter against every wound. I poured some into her eye sockets, her entire body convulsing as though she were having a seizure, and she screamed like a banshee, her spine arching sharply. The peroxide began foaming up inside some of her wounds, a telltale sign of infection, and a wicked sneer curled my lips as I watched her silently scream and writhe. She truly was a disgusting centipede. Chuckling to myself, I moved to grab the vial of sedative and a syringe; after filling it with the proper amount of liquid, I shoved the needle into her neck, injecting the contents. I threw them away and watched her as her movements became subdued.

I walked away from her as she rolled sluggishly onto her side, dropping the brown bottle into the waste and stripping out of my gear. I had time for a break, as I'm sure my father wouldn't be home until late in the evening. I left the attic, Elizabeth laying on the floor in the fetal position as she sobbed softly, trembles running through her body, though the sedative kept her from moving around too much. I put her out of my mind, letting it wander to more meaningless thoughts.

"Perhaps I should read a book," I hummed.

* * *

I was heading back up to the attic when my phone rang, startling me. I quickly pushed the stairs back up, pulling my phone out to read the screen. It was 4:07 pm, and it was my father calling. I lifted the phone to my ear, startled by the sudden call. "D-Daddy?" I murmured, sounding bewildered to my own ears.

"Ciel," he said, his voice sounding very slightly distorted through the speaker. "I'm headed home now. I'll probably get there around five so I should be able to make dinner."

"Oh, okay. That sounds good. I'll be waiting for you. I love you!" I made myself sound as cheerful as possible, though internally I was panicking.

"Love you too," my father replied, before hanging up the phone.

"Fuck," I said aloud. _"Shit."_ I knew I shouldn't have taken such a long break. I didn't have the time to act out my last few plans before he got home. I would have to wait until he went to bed and was actually asleep before I could carry out the end of it and get rid of her. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tightly closed my eyes. There was no way I could let Undertaker know not to come until much later without making it back after my father. I couldn't leave him alone with Elizabeth in the attic; there was a chance that he would happen upon her. I wouldn't allow such a thing.

Now wasn't the time to panic. I had to act fast. I ran to my room, throwing open the door and checking to make sure there was nothing that could act as evidence or bring about any suspicion. Not finding anything incriminating or of interest, I quickly grabbed my key and fled my room, picking up a random book from off of my desk, one from my last library venture that I hadn't yet been able to read, before I slammed my door and locked it. The key was then thrown over my head and tucked into my shirt, safely hidden against my chest. I sprinted down the hall and took the stairs two at a time, sliding on my socks as I rounded the corner and precariously threw myself towards the basement. Dropping the book carelessly onto the hall floor, I flew down the basement stairs and jumped onto the concrete, landing softly on my feet. I grabbed all of the clothing from the laundry chute and threw it into the washer; thankfully, they were all colors and no whites, so I didn't need to sort them and risk not getting them washed in time. I was certain that there was no blood or any traces of Elizabeth on them, but I wasn't going to take any chances. If there was the possibility that some minuscule, microscopic amount of her DNA was on any of my clothing, I had to get rid of it. I started the machine up, letting it begin filling with water, while I added the soap and softener. Once I had that done, I slammed the lid shut and darted back up to the first floor, gasping as I was slightly out of breath.

My next destination was the kitchen; I had left the coffee machine on all day, and there was still some of the brown liquid boiling away in the pot. I was sure that it was thoroughly burned by now, and the pot was sure to need cleaning. I walked into the room, and the pungent scent of burnt coffee assaulted my nostrils, making me wrinkle my face up in distaste. I turned the machine off, dumping the contents of the pot down the sink, before carefully rinsing it with warm water so as not to crack the hot glass by exposing it to cold water too suddenly. I washed the pot, scrubbing away the caked on residue, and leaving the glass pristine. After drying it, I returned it to its home, turning back to the minuscule amount of dishes in the sink. I knew my father wouldn't want to have to come home and feel like he had to do any cleaning before he made dinner, and I myself felt the need to wash them, or else in my eyes they weren't clean. I quickly set about washing them, moving as fast as I dared for them to still be considered clean, and I set them into the drying rack. Once done with that, I dried my hands on the hand towel and strode out of the kitchen.

The sound of my father's car pulling up made my heart stutter, and I darted towards the living room, almost forgetting the book I had left in the hall. I doubled back and scooped it up, before spinning on my heel and flying toward the living room; I dove for the couch and landed on it, scrambling into a sitting position. I slowed my breathing as best as I could, forcing myself to take deep breaths as I opened the book to a random page. I could hear him fumbling with the front door lock, and I counted my lucky stars as I had enough time to relax my racing heart and calm my lungs. By the time the front door opened, I was pretending to be completely engrossed in my novel, flipping the page and letting my eyes roam over the black words, yet not absorbing anything.

The door flew open, and I flicked my irises up, peeking up through my lashes to secretly watch the door. I had my nose buried in the book so that it appeared as though I were reading and completely unaware of his entrance. I watched as he pushed the door shut, immediately releasing his suitcase to begin yanking his dress shirt out from his trousers. I stifled a chuckle at the endearing sight, observing as his long, slender fingers expertly loosened the tie enough for him to rip it off of himself. I felt my lips curl into the faintest smile, but I banished it from my face and flicked my eyes back down as he began walking towards me.

"Hey buddy," he said, almost making me cringe at the choice of pet name, but his warm hand mussing up my hair in that way of his made up for it. "How was the party?" My father asked jokingly, but I decided to give him a bit of grief.

I flicked my eyes up to his face, finally lifting my head out of the book. I raised one brow, my head tilting slightly to the side and causing my hair to shift. "It was great. Polynomials and trigonometric identities sure know how to party," I stated sarcastically, watching him flinch slightly.

"Tough crowd," he sighed softly, almost seeming disappointed by my lack of humor. And I thought my biting retort was hilarious. "I figured you wouldn't have gone crazy, but that's really all you did? You just worked on homework?"

"I read a couple books," I amended, changing my mind and going soft on him, shrugging my shoulders though my voice took on a gentler tone when I next spoke. "And I missed you." It was certainly true, I had missed him dearly. I wish he had never had to leave me, but at the same time I was relieved that he had to be gone. It made it much easier to have my way with Elizabeth.

My father chuckled softly, the familiar sound warming my heart, and his hand once again descended upon my head to ruffle my hair. He turned away to go grab his suitcase, his voice trailing over to me from the door. "You read, did homework, and missed your old man. I've never heard of a teenager being so docile, Ciel."

I laughed softly, amusement at his words making my lips curl into a smirk. Oh yes, I was certainly the most docile teenager in existence. _Just ask the girl in our attic, Daddy_. _She'll vouch for me_. I turned my attentions back to the book, making it appear as though I weren't listening to his every step as he moved towards the stairs. "I'll start dinner in a little while. First, though, I need to put away my things."

I simply replied, "Okay, Daddy," and then held my breath.

My father's soft groans and the sound of his shoes hitting each stair on his trip up pricked at my ears, and I turned my head more toward the stairs to get a better angle for listening. I heard a loud exhale of relief as he paused at the stop of the stairs, and my body tensed up. I swallowed hard, willing him to keep walking to his room. _There's no reason to go anywhere near the attic, Daddy. Just go to your bedroom. Stay away from the rope, and we won't have any problems._ As he began walking down the hallway to his room, I could hear the fading footsteps, and I felt my body begin to relax. His footsteps stopped abruptly, though, and I perked up, my eyes widening as I launched myself off of the couch. Had he heard something? I ran to the kitchen, grabbing the nearest knife, which I held behind my back. As I silently sprinted back to the stairs, I heard him drop his suitcase and move to the attic entrance. _Shit, shit, no._ I climbed the stairs as swiftly and as quietly as I could, and I stopped dead in the hallway as I watched in horror as my father grabbed onto the rope and began to pull.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" I blurted out, trying to keep the panicked edge out of my voice, merely sounding curious. My grip on the knife shifted, and I pressed it closer to my back, keeping it out of his view.

His body tensed up visibly, and he spun towards me as he released the rope, his eyes wide as he regarded me. "Oh, Ciel," he gasped softly, looking like I'd nearly scared him out of his skin. "I was going to go up into the attic. Have you heard any strange scratching noises? I'm afraid we might have rats or something."

That _bitch._ She must have heard him and thought she could get his attention. Looking for a knight in shining armor? As if I would allow such a thing. I felt my lips pulling down into a frown, and I looked at the ground as I thought as fast as I could. "I have, actually."

"I'll go check and see if we have any poison; that should take care of them." He thought they were rats, which was good for me. But dread filled me. If he went up to the attic, I'd have no choice...

"I can do it, Daddy," I said, raising my gaze from the floor to look at him and give him a soft smile. "It's dusty up there, anyway. You don't want your allergies to flare up." _Don't argue, Daddy,_ I thought sorrowfully, tightening my hold on the handle of the knife until I was sure my knuckles were turning white. _If you argue, it'll be bad. If you go up there, I'll have to kill you. Please don't make me do that, Daddy. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to._

He gave me a very stern look, eyes hardening and brows furrowing, and he opened his mouth to protest. I felt sadness stab at my heart, but a reluctant determination came over me. "Yeah, but-" he started, but was efficiently cut off by the ringing of his phone.

Instant relief flooded me, and I quickly shoved the knife into the waistband of my trousers while he was distracted, the blade pointing upward and resting against my back. I was happy that I wouldn't have to kill him. I pulled my shirt over the knife and then crossed my arms over my chest as I waited politely for him to finish his conversation on the phone. From the sounds of it, the caller was none other than a drunken Bard; he sounded highly upset, and I sent a silent thought of appreciation to the man. Thanks to him, I wasn't forced to destroy the man I loved.

"Ciel, it's Bard. He needs m-" my father started, giving me an apologetic look, but I cut him off before he could finish his sentence in my excitement to get him to leave.

"Go, Daddy," I said, giving him an understanding smile. Don't sound too eager or else he might not leave, and then we'll have a problem on our hands. Once he's gone, things can proceed as planned. "I'll take care of your suitcase and those pesky attic rats for you."

"I'm not sure I'll be home in time for dinner..." he said, looking upset that he'd have to leave me to fend for myself again.

I giggled and waved away his worry. It was better for me that way; I wasn't planning on eating, I didn't have time, nor was I hungry. I had too much to do, and not enough time to do it. "It's okay, we'll eat dinner together tomorrow night."

He came over and hugged me, and I stiffened, hoping he wouldn't push the knife into my skin or feel it beneath my thin shirt, but he thankfully didn't seem to notice. He darted down the stairs after releasing me, and I watched him run his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. As soon as his car had pulled out of the driveway, I placed the knife onto a table in the hall, and turned towards the attic. Time to deal with the little rat problem.

Pulling the rope down, I stormed up the stairs and glared hatefully down at Elizabeth, a cruel sneer curling my lips. "That was a close call. You were almost saved. It's too bad. For you." I pulled the attic entrance closed and shoved my feet into my shoes, followed by the shoe covers. "You've really fucking pissed me off this time, you fucking cunt. You're going to get exactly what you deserve."

She cowered in fear, unable to see me, but hearing my angered movements made her flinch, and when I walked too close to her she shrank into herself, whimpering and sucking in tiny gasps. I finished pulling on my gear, stomping over to the tray and picking up the hunting knife. I held it up in the light, admiring the blade for the umpteenth time, before I turned back to her. I slowly walked over to her, my head tilting to the side. My foot came down upon her hand, and I ground my heel into it, as punishment for clawing at the ground. "I should have removed those fucking talons when I had the chance."

She cried out, yanking on her arm in a weak attempt to get her hand free. I raised a brow at her actions, observing her futility. It amazed me the amount of self-preservation she possessed. Too bad it was going to get her nowhere. Her stomach making an odd gurgling sound made me pause, before a half smirk twisted the corner of my lips. The lotion must have been causing her intense pain as her body had no choice but to digest it. It was essentially poison. I was surprised she had yet to vomit. We'll take care of that.

I pushed her onto her back with my foot, making myself comfortable on her thighs. I trailed the knife along her lower stomach, before turning it upwards and tracing along the bottom of her ribcage. My voice was ice cold when I spoke, completely void of anything but cruelty. "I bet your insides smell like lavender now. Shall we find out?"

I didn't even hesitate; I raised my hands above my head, both clutching tightly to the handle. In one swift motion I plunged them downwards, exerting as much force as was possible, and sank the blade deep into her gut. I twisted and turned my wrists, guiding the knife as I cut open her skin in a jagged line. The tranexamic acid had worn off long ago, and her blood flowed out of her in rivers, the dark red so deep it was almost black; it was mesmerising, pooling up beneath the wound and spilling over. Elizabeth gagged and sputtered, the thick, warm liquid flecking her lips as she coughed it up. Her face paled immensely, her mind going into shock from the intensity of the wound and the pain it caused. I leaned toward her face, keeping far enough away to not be decorated in her blood, but close enough that my voice would register.

"I thought I had broken you mentally, but you still had some smidgen of sanity left in you. I'm going to fucking snuff it out," I growled, my teeth clenched together, and I pushed my hand into her body, grabbing onto the first slippery organ I could get my fingers around. I began pulling it out, and I looked down to see what I was holding onto. It was her large intestine, looking like a giant worm. My rubber glove was completely soaked in the thick blood, and I let the intestine hit the tarp with a splatter. A low laugh left me, starting out small and subdued, but as I began yanking on her organs, ripping them out of her body, it got louder and louder, and soon it didn't even resemble the sound of a human laugh. I crushed her kidney in my fist, letting the sticky meat slip out of my hand and hit her stomach. Taking her hands, I placed them on her abdomen, my voice tinged with laughter and shaking so hard from my mirth that I would be amazed if she understood a word. "Can you feel them? All of your fucking insides have come outside. They're spilling out of you."

I watched her entire body freeze, her dainty hands coated in blood as she tried to press the laceration shut, as if she could stop her life from flowing out of her, or will her intestines back inside. I picked up my hunting knife again; it was completely soiled and would need to be thoroughly cleansed. I stood up momentarily to throw her legs open, and I kneeled in the blood, making sure the raincoat protected my pants. I was already sure that the shoes would have to be disposed of, as the covers had been completely soaked through.

"Time for the grand finale," I said giddily, the remnants of laughter in my body coming out as a half-mad giggle. My fingers hooked into her panties and yanked them down around her ankles. "I hope that this is the last thing you feel," I murmured, and then as brutally as possible, I sheathed the knife inside of her vagina. Elizabeth let out a long, drawn out scream, chilling and haunting enough to curdle blood. I thrust it into her several times, pushing deeper. Blood spilled out of her in gushes, and I twisted the blade around inside of her, desperate to mangle and ruin her. She had tempted my father with this, and I was going to take it away from her.

Elizabeth fell silent, the blood flow slowly ebbing as she completely bled out, and even though I knew she was dead, I continued to rape her with the hunting knife, grunting from the exertion. I finally tired myself out on it, and I sat on my haunches to look at her corpse. My most macabre piece of art; every ounce of my rage and anger had been poured into this, and it was made all the more beautiful by the silent scream on her face. Her mouth was open as far as it could go, her skin stretched in excruciating agony. Her life had ended in torturous misery, exactly as she deserved.

I sucked in deep breaths to calm my racing heart, my gaze sliding down to take in my appearance. The raincoat was unrecognizable, the clear plastic completely saturated in the sticky, slowly drying blood. The gloves were getting stiffer and harder to move my hands in, they were so coated in her essence. I rose to my feet, pulling the gloves off and throwing them away, before carefully removing the parka. I added that to the trash, exchanging the shoe covers for new ones. They were no longer necessary for shoe protection since I would be throwing them away, but they would keep me from tracking blood all over the attic. After putting on new gloves, I carefully dragged Elizabeth towards one side of the tarp, then flipped it up over her feet. I circled around to the top of her head, doing the same thing there, before grabbing onto the stool and wastebasket. I used those to prop up the other end of the tarp so that no blood would spill out. My goal was to wrap her up carefully like a corpse burrito, and not allow anything to leak from it before we could get her into a bodybag. Once I got everything set up, I tossed the flap over her body, beginning to painstakingly roll her towards the other side. She was even heavier now that she was dead than when she was unconscious, which was weird considering all the blood and flesh she'd lost these last few days. Once I got her close to the propped up edge, I stopped pushing her and grabbed onto the draped-over end; I folded it into itself once, like a person would normally do with wrapping paper, as an extra precaution against spillage. I wrapped that over-top her, and then carefully taped the seam with duct tape. This makeshift bodybag was certainly not efficient, and if you moved her the wrong way, blood would make its shot at freedom, but it would do until he could get here.

Certain that Undertaker was on his way, I had to work fast; I still had to have time to shower, finish laundry, and put my father's clothes and suitcase away. He needed no more reasons to come up into the attic, and I was hoping that if I took care of the suitcase, he wouldn't see a need to come up here. Especially because I'd taken care of the rat. I grabbed a fresh trash bag and shoved all of the tools, ones I had and hadn't used, into it, for they would all need to be disinfected and properly cleaned before they could be returned to whatever stores they had come from, and put back into circulation. They would most certainly be put on clearance, as none of them were broken or damaged, but all of them had been removed from packaging. If anyone had ever wondered why an item was marked down, it was because it had been previously purchased and returned. People never did question, though; all they saw was a sale, and if luck was on my side, all of the evidence here would make its way into households all over town, untraceable to me.

With the last item in the bag, I sealed it off before stuffing it into another bag as a precaution. I pulled the plastic wrap down from all of the boxes and paraphernalia that my father kept in the attic; now that there was no mess being splattered everywhere, it no longer needed to be protected, and I would move everything back into its exact place after I had cleaned. I threw them into the wastebasket, before untying the knot and setting the bucket carefully onto a box, managing to avoid touching it with my dirty glove. I did the same with the stool, setting it up and out of the way after I had taken the black bag off of it. I shoved all of the trash into the main bag, full of flesh and needles, before I tied it off and triple-bagged it; the last thing I needed was for something to break through and everything to go spilling out. Good thing Undertaker got the heavy duty bags.

Speak of the devil, and he shall arise, the saying goes. As soon as the thought was completed in my brain, the attic stairs dropped down, nearly giving me a heart attack, and Undertaker popped his head up.

"I figured you'd want me to let myself in," he said with a chuckle, and I walked over to him, stopping him on the last step.

I held up my gloved hand to ward him off as he started to ignore me and lifted his foot. "Don't step in. I can't have you tracking contaminated shoes through my house. I already have enough shit to clean and not enough fucking time. Do you have the bodybag?" I raised a brow at him, almost expecting him to tell me that he didn't because he thought I wouldn't need one.

"That I do; s'right here, kekeke." He pulled it out of his cloak of mysteries, passing it off to me, and I quickly unfolded it, looking it over to make sure it was perfectly in tact.

"You didn't steal this off of a corpse, did you?" I asked absentmindedly, not really caring for an answer either way. Once I had deemed the contraption acceptable for use, I shoved it back into Undertaker's arms and turned away from him. "Unzip it and get ready to lift. You had better be wearing gloves." I grasped onto the upper end of the tarp and slowly began dragging it along the plastic-wrapped floor, making sure that I let nothing spill out. I grunted as I tugged on the dead weight, not really paying attention to where I was going. "You have to be careful, there's a lot of fucking blood in here, and I'm sure it's not all dry yet."

I could hear him fumbling with the bag behind me, and I very nearly walked off of the attic floor and fell into the hall below. I would have easily snapped my neck if Undertaker hadn't caught me. I thanked him grudgingly, before dropping Elizabeth with a huff. A sweat was breaking out on my brow from exertion. This was not the first time I had thought this, but the fucking bitch weighed a ton.

I turned to look at him, almost forgetting myself and resting my hands on my hips in annoyance, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to have to throw out this shirt. I gave him an irritated glare. "Where are your fucking gloves?"

"Oh, I apologize, little lord," Undertaker snickered as he reached into his black cloak, digging around momentarily, before withdrawing heavy duty rubber gloves. He pulled them onto his hands as I ignored his comment, refusing to dignify it with a retort. I didn't have the energy for his witty banter.

"Hurry the fuck up," I snarled, turning towards the bodybag. No way in fuck I was lifting her again; I'd just hold it open for him to shove the cow in there. "Oh, and not that there's really time to discuss it, but I don't see why you wear that stupid fucking cloak when you're not disguised. It seems very impractical to me."

"I wear it for aesthetic reasons, of course. Don't I look more like a mortician this way? It suits my name." His explanation made him burst into that unstable laughter of his, and I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, of course, that makes perfect fucking sense," I muttered, holding the bag wide open as he began to transfer her into it.

"I knew you'd agree with me," Undertaker stated loudly, and I sighed in exasperation. Leave it to this bastard to misinterpret my words. I knew he did it on purpose to grate on my nerves, but for the love of fuck, I wish he wouldn't insist on making me want to strangle him when the clock was ticking down. I had no idea when my father was going to get home, and I really didn't want to push my luck and end up being caught.

I remained silent as he finished tucking Elizabeth into the bodybag, and I zipped it up before I moved out of his way. He lifted her up and walked backwards down the stairs before setting her down in the hallway. He turned his gaze up to me expectantly, and I ducked back into the attic, out of his sight.

"Give me five minutes, and you'll have everything I need you to dispose of."

I heard his chuckling response but chose to ignore him as I removed everything from the tv tray, throwing it into a new bag, before I placed the tv tray itself inside of it. I knew that it would not be missed; my father had stopped using tv trays when I had come to live with him, and I knew that they would remain untouched forever, because I was never planning to leave him. I lifted up the hunting knife, caked in blood and flesh, giving it one last desirous look. I wanted to keep it; it was perfect in every way, but I knew that people who kept souvenirs of their murders always got caught. With a sorrowful sigh, I wiped the handle with a sanitary wipe to remove any fingerprints of mine, slid it into its holder so it wouldn't rip through the bag, and shoved it in with everything else. Once everything contaminated with her DNA was in the bag, I tied it off and brought it and several other bags to the entrance, setting them down for Undertaker to grab.

I ran to the back of the attic, lifting up the plastic wrap away from the wood. Once a sufficient amount was moved I quickly took off my shoe, cover and all, and placed my sock-covered foot onto the actual floor. I carefully did the same with the other, setting them both down onto the plastic wrap. I began pulling it up from the floor all at once, wrapping it in on itself around the shoes, and once all of the plastic was off of the floor, I removed the gloves I was wearing, opened a new trash bag, and shoved everything in. I sealed it and passed it down to Undertaker, who set it with the other bags.

"That should be everything that needs to be disposed of. I do have your payment ready." I turned back to look at the attic, which was oddly barren after becoming used to the setup I had had, and took Undertaker's original canvas bag into my grasp, setting the jar gently inside. Elizabeth's emerald orbs bobbed around in the formaldehyde, seeming to look at me for one last accusing moment, before I closed the bag and brought it down the stairs.

Undertaker took it from my hands, opened it to study his payment, and gave a hum of approval. "Your removal is as clean as always. They are such _pretty_ eyes." He sighed, his gaze raising up to me, and he took a step closer to me. His gloveless hand came up to cup my jaw, and I met his gaze unabashedly as he studied my eyes, before they settled on my right one. "Curious," he mumbled to himself, which made me furrow my brows in slight confusion before I brushed it off. "Your eyes are the most intriguing, of course. Save them for me, will you?"

I dislodged his hold on my jaw by backhanding his arm and jerking my head away. "You'll get them over my dead body..." I said, pausing momentarily to cock my head to the side. "Although, that is the point."

My little "joke" made him laugh like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. That trademark _kekeke_ of his echoed in my hall, and I sucked in an impatient breath before I began herding him towards the stairs.

"You have your payment, now kindly take all this shit and get the fuck out. You're wasting my precious time."

"As you command, little lord," he chortled, picking up all of the trash bags first and making his way downstairs.

I didn't have the time to babysit him or correct his idiocy, and I instead ran back up to the attic. I had placed cleaning supplies here for myself prior to this series of events for a fast clean up, and I was thankful that I had had the foresight to do so. I had no need to do a deep cleaning, nor did I have the required half of a day to be able to do so; all that really needed to be done was disinfect and remove all traces of the stench. I climbed up onto a couple of boxes pushed up under the window, perching precariously on them as I threw open the attic window. First I had to air this place out. I scrubbed the entire expanse of the floor before I began pushing everything back into its rightful spots, on the off chance that my father did decide to come up here. Once everything was properly positioned, I sprayed enough air freshener to kill all of China, and it absorbed the funk that had been clinging to the stagnant air for days. I positioned a small battery-powered fan in the window, pointing it outwards so that it would suck all of the contaminated oxygen out, thus purifying the attic once again.

Leaving it to do its thing, I grabbed all of the cleaning supplies and flew out of the attic, shoving the stairs back up. I made mental note to take the fan down and shut the window when I went to take my father's suitcase up there, but first I had to put these chemical cleansers away and take a shower. I returned them to underneath the sink in the bathroom, tearing my clothes off as I kicked the cabinet door shut. I ripped open the shower curtains and jumped in, turning the water on. I took the quickest shower I could manage whilst still being very thorough, stumbling out completely drenched. I shut the water off and grabbed a random towel, quickly drying off. My hair was still dripping it was so saturated with water, but I couldn't care less right now. I dropped my clothing and the towel down the laundry chute, then sprinted into my room, where I grabbed a random pair of boxers and tugged them on. I ignored my father's suitcase for now, storming down the stairs in a hurry and stumbling towards the basement.

I threw open the basement door and took the stairs two at a time, landing hard on the concrete with an _oomph_. I walked over to the washer and dryer, transferring the wet clothes to the latter and tossing in a few dryer sheets before starting it. I picked up the articles I had just sent through the chute, shoving them into the washer and dumping the soap and softener in. I slammed the lid down and started the cycle.

Having no idea what time it was, I rushed back up the stairs, pushing the basement door shut without stopping, and I rounded back to go up the main staircase. Once I had reached the top, I paused to suck in panting breaths of air. After my lungs had stopped seizing, I turned toward my father's room, striding over and throwing open the door. I dragged his suitcase inside, unzipping it once I reached the middle of his room. I dropped to my knees, hovering over the contents, and sucking in a deep breath. Nothing smelled off. I leaned even closer, pressing my nose into the fabric of one of his dress shirts, and took a huge inhale, drawing his scent deep within me. They smelled of my father; no women's perfumes lingered on them. I finally felt myself relax; I had never doubted that it had been a business trip, but since he randomly decided to start dating once again, I could never be too careful. I began putting his clothing away, folding what needed to be folded, and hanging up any of his suits.

As I was hanging up a suit, I paused, the barest hint of a flowery scent hitting my nostrils. I brought it to my nose, breathing in deeply. It was most certainly the aroma of a woman, but I felt no need to see it as a threat; whatever contact they had had was brief, perhaps a bump to the shoulder. Besides that, there was a distinct older woman fragrance to it, and if my father's deceased date had anything to show, it was his preference in more youthful persons. I finished putting away his things, but I turned back to his closet and grabbed one of his t-shirts. I removed it from the hanger and slipped it on; it hung off of me like a dress it was so baggy, but I didn't care. It was his. I wanted to sleep in his essence.

Grabbing the suitcase, I exited his room and shut the door, carrying it over to the attic entrance. I reached up and grabbed the rope, pulling the stairs down. I climbed up and set his suitcase near the opening in the floor, in case he needed it any time soon. I slipped all the way inside to take the fan out of the window, shutting it off and setting it where it belonged, before I pulled the window shut. I left the attic for hopefully the last time; I was getting tired of walking up and down the stairs. I closed the staircase up, and trudged to my room, where I fell onto my bed, face-first into a pillow. I released a drawn out groan, my body melting into my mattress. It was so comfortable, and I could finally relax.

* * *

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, a loud _thud_ crept up the stairs from the living room. I groaned softly and opened my eyes, glancing at the clock on my nightstand; it was just after eleven at night, and I shut my lids tightly again, a small whine in my throat. I was exhausted, and I just wanted to sleep. In no way was I prepared to go to school tomorrow after my long weekend; if I could just pass out right this second, and have no dreams, I would get approximately 6 hours, 53 minutes, and 17 seconds of sleep. I took a relaxing breath, and just as I was about to succumb to unconsciousness, I remembered that I left my bedroom door wide open. With a long-suffering sigh, I shuffled to the edge of my bed and slid onto my feet, not bothering to open my eyes. I dragged my feet over to the portal and grasped onto the handle to shut it silently. No need to make my father think I was awake. I had gotten up just in time, because I heard him trudging up the steps in what he must have thought as quiet in his drunken state, but really he sounded like a heard of elephants falling off of a cliff and making impact with the ground below. I turned away from the door and headed back toward my bed, my ears pricking as the noise in the hall stopped; it seemed as though he had come to a standstill. He must have been listening for rats. _You won't be hearing anymore, Daddy. I took care of her for you._ I thought groggily, sliding back beneath the covers.

Sleep was futile, I soon realised, as my bladder was protesting and demanding to be emptied. "Whyyyyy?" I moaned, completely irritated, and I rubbed at my eyes. "I just want to fucking sleep." My whispered voice had the edge of a whine, and I kicked my blanket off of me violently. I quietly stormed over to my bedroom door once again, throwing it open silently.

A murderous aura surrounded me as I stalked down the hall to the bathroom. I didn't bother to shut the door or turn on the light, which was something I would normally never do, but it proved how tired I was. After taking a long, relieving piss, I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, drying them on the hand towel before treading out into the hall. I was about to go back into my room, but a sound caught my attention, causing me to freeze and listen.

My father groaned again, and my head turned toward his bedroom door so fast I nearly snapped my own neck. I felt my eyes widen considerably; he must have been highly intoxicated, because he was normally a bit more cautious than he was currently being. I silently tiptoed over to his door, leaning against the frame and peeking through the tiny crack. I daringly laid my hand against the wood and gave it a small push, opening it a few more centimeters so that I could have a better view. I was certainly not disappointed; his large, slender fingers were wrapped around his dick, sliding up and down the turgid flesh. His head was tilted back, eyes shut tightly in pleasure as he let his imagination run wild with whatever fantasy he was having. I felt my own orbs lid, my body feeling entirely too hot at the sight of him. I licked my lips, and had to bite my tongue to stifle a responding sound when he grunted.

My own cock was throbbing to life, straining against the fabric of my boxers within moments, and I sucked in a shallow breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. I rested one arm against the wall, leaning against it to hold myself up as my other hand slipped inside my boxers. I slowly curled each digit around the heated protuberance, mimicking his motions as I drank in ever movement and sound he made. My hand squeezed around my dick when I saw his hips buck up, and my thighs quivered weakly as my entire body tensed with need. I imagined him thrusting roughly into me, and my eyes nearly fell shut, though I stayed focused on him, my gaze dropping down to stare in fascination at his large, thick cock. Fuck, I wanted it in me so badly. His shirt was saturated with his scent, and it washed over me, crashing over my senses and swallowing me up, sending me into a feverish fantasy. I wanted to be perched atop him, slamming down as I road him like my life depended on it. I wanted it to stretch me, rip me apart, fill me up; I wanted to be so full of his warm cum that it was positively oozing out of me. All of my mental images had my back arching so sharply it should have broke in half, and I moved my hand as fast as I could as my stomach began to coil. I panted loudly, hoping that he wouldn't hear me, but he seemed as lost in his own ministrations as I was becoming.

When I saw his cum shoot out and splatter on his stomach, I slammed my forehead silently against the wall, my eyes shutting tightly as a tiny moan escaped my trembling lips. My body felt so taut before my release hit, and I weakly fell to my knees as I came into my own hand. I sucked in ragged breaths, trying to calm my palpitating heart as my member softened in my grasp. A few minutes passed before I pulled my hand out of my boxers, and I unsteadily got to my feet. I took one last look at him through the crack; he was completely passed out, his breathing soft as he peacefully snoozed.

A tiny smile creeped its way onto my lips, and I turned around, feeling sated and languid as I made my way back into my bedroom. I shut the door behind me with my clean hand, walking over to my nightstand and opening a drawer. I pulled a packet of sanitary wipes out, before removing one and using it to clean all of my essence from my hand. I used another one to wipe my flaccid dick clean, and tossed both into the wastebasket next to my desk. Finally, I crawled back into my bed, my body going weak as soon as I was fully under the covers, and I snuggled down deep into my pillows, burrowing into my blankets, until only the top of my head peeked out.

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, and it was thankfully deep and dreamless. I didn't realise that, in my exhausted state, I had forgotten to lock my door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand, there you have it. Did any of you chicken out? Who puked? FEED ME YOUR THOUGHTS. I want comments for days. FOR DAYS PEOPLE. CHOPPITY CHOP.  
> But really, joking aside, I really am truly curious about your thoughts and opinions on the characters thus far. It would make me very happy to see what all of you dear readers think. 
> 
> Now I shall retire to my mancave and engage in a small coma. I'm riggety riggety wrecked, son.
> 
> Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy


	9. Suspicious Sebastian

Clad in a luxurious tuxedo, the silken bow tie squeezing my throat ever so slightly, I strode forward, my posture as straight as it could possibly be. So straight, in fact, that it was amazing that a human spine could be so vertically proportioned. As I started to weave through small groups of elegantly dressed civilians, eyes would occasionally flicker in my direction, though they never lingered long and they brushed my presence off easily.

"So far, so good," I breathed, practically holding my breath as I continued on my way. The further I traveled inside the building, the more people there were, and it was getting more and more difficult to avoid the various guests.

"Excuse me," a woman called out as I accidentally bumped into her, though her tone sounded irritated rather than apologetic.

"Bitch," I muttered, though I didn't turn back, for I didn't want my brewing annoyance to distract me from my goal.

I proceeded down a long corridor, my pupils glancing over the aesthetic designs on the walls with mild interest. Clearly someone had good taste.

Turning a corner, I stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening momentarily as I saw a man in all white attire, talking to a few people nonchalantly. That was him. I could spot him from a mile away. Hell, I could practically see red as I stared at the man. If he was scared of getting found, however, he didn't show it; he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding.

A few more people brushed past me, making me promptly step to the side to avoid hitting them. "This place is too crowded," I said, my orbs scanning the area. "I need to find someplace quiet."

As if on cue, the male in white ended his conversation with the guests and started to tread upstairs, a single man from the group walking beside him and continuing to chat. I smirked, easily tailing them, though keeping my distance as I slowly padded up the stairs; I couldn't afford to get noticed, and I'd feel incompetent if I was discovered otherwise.

Reaching the top of the staircase, I turned my head to the left, catching the figures of the two men disappearing into a room down a far hallway. Taking a step forward, I intended to follow them, though I froze and cursed when I saw two security guards blocking the passage.

"Not those fucking brutes," I hissed in rage, my brows furrowing momentarily. "I'll have to find another way around."

I chose to walk in the other direction, padding down the opposite corridor and entering the first door I saw. A grin spread across my lips as I observed a balcony through two glass doors at the back of the room, and I hurriedly sprinted over to it. Throwing the doors open, I stepped onto the balcony, and, much to my glee, I observed that the balcony circled around the entire manor, allowing me to enter the chamber the two men were in easily.

I carefully treaded along the balcony, crouching slyly and moving cautiously when I was afraid more guards could possibly be glancing out the window, and, though it was a bit tedious, I eventually arrived outside of my desired location. Peering in through the glass window, I studied the man in white and the other male, noting that their lips were moving and hands gesturing in a deep conversation.

Clearing my throat, I composed myself, before I grasped a hold of the gun hidden in my suit jacket, my hand gently pulling it out into view. Steadily, I raised my weapon, aimed it at the man in white, and fired.

The man collapsed instantly, and his counterpart was overcame with an expression of panic, immediately crouching down to see if the male was okay.

"Yes! Nailed it!" I proclaimed victoriously, throwing my arms up into the air in accomplishment. At about that time, Bard entered my cubicle carrying a box of doughnuts, and a look of amusement on his face as his eyes flicked over to my computer screen.

"You know, Sebastian, if you're going to be acting like the world's greatest assassin, I have to wonder why you haven't taken out our boss yet."

A look of embarrassment washed over my face and I quickly paused my game, clearing my throat nervously. "Well, it's not like I haven't _thought_ about it."

"Oh, I'm sure you have, considering you're procrastinating so easily."

"Hey, I work hard! Everyone deserves a break, right?"

Setting the box of doughnuts down in front of me, Bard raised a cynical eyebrow. "We've been at work for thirty minutes."

I flashed him a sheepish smile, my hand rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Okay, I _might_ be procrastinating."

"No better way to procrastinate than with a video game, right?" Bard mumbled, his hand reaching inside of the doughnut box and taking out a pastry covered in powdered sugar.

"I agree. Procrastinating like this is heaven." My eyes continued to stare at the pause screen of my game, my arm extending as my fingers brushed along the surface of a raspberry-filled delight. Before I could grasp it, however, a female voice made me freeze, and both Bard and I turned to look toward the door.

"You may just be able to procrastinate all day," one of our female coworkers stated, her confident stride evident as she smoothly strolled into the room. I looked her up and down, noting that her faded lavender hair was pulled up in a tight bun today, rather than her usual high ponytail. Sophisticated-styled glasses adorned her face, perched low on her nose so her deep blue eyes could be seen more clearly. Her typical lilac lips were curled into a small smile, and her arms folded across her chest. She wore a white blouse, the shirt practically fitting her like a second skin, and it was unbuttoned at the top to accommodate her large breasts, her cleavage pushed up and nearly spilling over the material. A tight pencil skirt flattered her tiny waist, though the garment looked as if it was about to split at the seams considering her large behind. Finally, a dangerously tall pair of stilettos adorned her feet, making her legs seem more slender and her figure even curvier than it already was. If her description hadn't given it away already, she was known as the official office crush, for she was, to put it simply, the hottest coworker we've ever had.

"Hannah," I greeted, surprise coloring my voice as I glanced up at the gleaming sapphires she had for eyes. "What brings you here?"

"Didn't you know? No one is where they're supposed to be today, including Bard," she snickered in her low voice, flashing my friend a wink as she looked over at him. Bardroy was already a lost cause, however; drool was already forming at the corner of his lips as he stared at her chest.

"Why's that?" I asked, retracting my hand from the doughnut box and instead using it to tug on my tie. As Bard had already pointed out with his ogling, Hannah's shirt was unbuttoned a bit more than it would be on a usual basis, so that naturally made me question if I had to wear a tie at all.

"The boss isn't coming in today," Hannah answered coolly, crossing one leg over the other as she suavely sat herself atop my desk.

"H-he's not?" I stuttered in shock, puzzlement contorting my features as I pondered if what Hannah said was actually true. She simply stared at her long talons in a bored manner, her pupils studying her oxblood nails as if to search for any chips in the paint.

"Haven't you noticed? It's nearly nine and he's still not here. His office is still dark and locked up tight, and if you know the boss, you know that if he's not here on time, he's not coming."

My brows furrowed as I let Hannah's words sink in. So she was merely assuming that he wouldn't be coming in today; she didn't have solid facts to back up her suspicions. Bard must've finally snapped out of his trance, because he spoke up.

"She's probably right," he said as he turned to me, his hand running through and mussing up his blond hair. "The boss has never done anything like this, has he?"

"I've worked for him since I was in high school," Hannah proclaimed, her claws clicking as she drummed them against my desk. "And never once did he miss work without at least calling first."

"So this is new for him," I breathed, my eyes widening slightly in thought. "Maybe he's dead."

"Hallelujah!" Bard cheered, throwing his arms up in celebration. His spontaneous action made Hannah giggle in amusement, and in return, her laughter made him blush like a school kid.

"He could be. I just figured I'd let you men know, in case you wanted to consider procrastinating." With that, Hannah slid off my desk, easily landing on her spiked heels. She gave my shoulder a tender squeeze and flashed Bard a dazzling smirk before she sauntered out the same way she came, sensually swinging her hips as she did so. My friend drank in the sight until she was out of view, before he then wolf-whistled in awe.

"God damn, is Hannah sexy. I don't think I've ever met a woman more tempting than her, and I've seen a lot of strippers."

I raised a brow as I stared at my friend, shaking my head as I started to roll my sleeves up. "I'm starting to see why Mey makes you sleep on the couch now."

"Come on, man, don't be like that!" Bard groaned, his hand slapping my back harshly in disbelief. "You see a woman like _that_ and you're going to try to brush it off? You're not God's gift, Sebastian."

"Hey, I agree she's hot, and I guarantee she's perfectly capable of giving me a boner," I said, my newly exposed forearms falling to my sides once I've tugged my tie off and loosened the collar of my shirt. "And believe me, I would fuck her in a heartbeat, but I don't feel like getting every STD known to man, including the ones that haven't even been discovered yet."

I had no ill will toward Hannah; she was a nice woman, and she was indeed a temptress. This was no surprise to her, for she already knew that it was what she did best. Her body could obtain her anything and everything she ever desired, and she used that to her advantage. Plus, she seemed to be a nymphomaniac anyway, for every week she was cheating on her husband with someone new. Everyone who knew Hannah was aware of this, as well; everyone excluding her husband, at least. If it wasn't for these facts, I'd have no problem - no, I would be _dying_ to sleep with her, but I never lusted after anyone who had a million previous sex partners, and I wasn't one to assist in ruining a marriage.

"Anyway," Bard breathed, thankfully deciding to change the subject. "I guess we're off the hook today."

"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed, sighing as I glanced back over at my computer screen. I didn't like believing that I was clear to fuck around without knowing if I truly am or not, but after Hannah assuring us that she was positive he wouldn't be showing up, I was inclined to assume that he wouldn't be. "So I guess we can just do whatever, huh?"

"Guess so," Bard shrugged, picking up his box of pastries. "Grab the doughnut you want so I can leave. I'll be watching porn for the rest of the day."

With a chuckle, I retrieved my raspberry-filled doughnut, allowing Bard to leave and do his thing. A tranquil smile was carved into my lips as I leisurely enjoyed my breakfast, taking steady bites in between playing my game. From the loud laughter and chattering I could hear, everyone else was taking advantage of their free day as well.

As long as the boss never showed up, everything would be fine.

 

* * *

 

It would seem that I needed to place more trust into Hannah's intuitions, for as she had predicted, our boss never showed his face once today. His office remained dark and locked, while, unlike usual procedure, the cubicles surrounding were filled with boisterous conversations that would probably serve to give our boss a heart attack had he witnessed it himself. Going off an assumption, I was fairly sure that no one did an ounce of work today; even the ass kissers of the building seemed to be celebrating our employer's disappearance. What a surprise that was.

"If only we had more days like this at work," Bard huffed as we exited the building, his hand raking through his usual mussed hair. Though his appearance was its regular state of distress, his eyes seemed to be lighter than usual; perhaps all of that alcohol consumption last night helped knock him out.

"I agree. It's a shame work has to be hell every day."

"Yeah..." My friend sighed, his words trailing off. We continued to stride toward our vehicles, though I watched his blue eyes float up to the sky thoughtfully as we walked, his orbs seeming to be clouded with a million pondering questions. "Oi, Sebastian, you think we deserve better than this?"

My eyes widened a bit, a single eyebrow arching in reaction to his inquiry. I glanced over to him, trying to study his expression carefully. "What do you mean, 'do we deserve better than this?' We talk about leaving this place to find a different job all the time."

Bard frowned a little, and he shook his head slightly. "Yeah, I know that. But do you think we deserve better than _all_ of this? This town, this job, these lives, our families. Do we deserve better than all of this? We go through a lot of shit, man."

His elaboration of his question practically blew me away. He was basically asking me if I felt like I deserved the chance to run away from everything I had, simply to try to find something better. It was a selfish thing to wish for, obviously, but everyone believed the grass was greener on the other side, and I suppose Bard and I did go through quite a bit of shit. For me, I had went from the most promising boy in town to a victim of domestic violence, which was possibly the most embarassing thing for a man to admit in his life. Then, I discovered I had a child out of the blue, and I was expected to instantly be prepared to be a father of a boy who had already started growing. I did love Ciel, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't been troublesome. Although, would I leave him? Would I leave this town and this job in pursuit of something else?

"No."

"What?" Bard blinked, startled by my sudden statement.

"No," I shrugged, brushing off his inquiry. "I don't think we deserve anything better."

"B-but why?" He was completely flabbergasted at this point. "With all the shit that happened with Rachel, and then the way Mey's been, and then Ciel-"

"We chose our paths, Bard. We could've went to college and picked up every girl on the beaches like we planned, but we both decided against it. I chose to stay with Rachel, and you chose to stay with Mey. You're still choosing to stay with Mey, and I made my choice to be a proper father instead of giving Ciel to some orphanage. We made our choices, and we deserve every consequence that comes with them."

Bardroy remained silent for a while, his expression utterly blank. He appeared to be lost inside himself, his complexion revealing a deadened part of him that I had never seen before. Was Bard that upset with life?

Eventually, though, he blinked, and his face returned to his normal neutral state. "I hope you're right, buddy."

I watched as he turned his back to me, trudging toward the opposite end of the parking lot where his car surely resided. His posture was hunched, a fist haphazardly jammed into his trouser pocket. As I continued to stare after him, a feeling of uneasiness made my stomach churn, nausea threatening to make me light-headed. I had never seen Bard act so... Off. It was almost as if he felt like something was sure to go wrong soon.

And, though I was never a religious man, I prayed that wasn't true.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday morning started off quiet and uneventful.

Last night, Ciel seemed to shovel in his dinner as if he had been starving for weeks, and he actually ate a few servings instead of his usual one. I had no idea I was such a great chef, though maybe the cafeteria lunch at school was just revolting yesterday. I helped him a little with his homework last night, though I never spoke a French word in my life, - correctly, anyway - and I received C's in math my entire high school career so I wasn't sure that I provided much help.

I didn't get adequate sleep last night, for the entire time I was worrying about Bard, though when I texted him about his wellbeing he simply replied "Still stuck on couch. Nothing new here."

However, Tuesday morning, Bard seemed to be back to his usual self, and he even seemed a bit more cheerful. Perhaps he had been nervous about confronting Mey after work yesterday, but I wasn't sure.

Our boss was actually here today, though he showed up an hour earlier than usual, (according to Hannah) and his blinds were drawn closed in his office, so no one knew what to expect; it was peculiar for the boss to shut himself inside his office, especially with the blinds lowered, for he liked to keep a watchful eye on everything at all times.

Taking a long drink of my steaming coffee, I let out a sigh. The office was now entirely silent, save for the clicking of keys and the soft ringing of phones. It was depressing, really, considering how lively it was yesterday. Everyone had seemed to love all of their coworkers yesterday, and now we were back to being isolated today. Maybe we would all be better if our boss dropped dead; however, taking into consideration his odd behavior and his disappearance yesterday, it was possible that he had a threatening illness, so I didn't want to joke about that.

"M-Mr. Michaelis."

My eyes tore away from my computer screen and flickered over to the doorway, where I noticed Diane standing, her hands clasped together politely.

"Sebastian, Diane," I corrected, setting down my mug so I could lace my fingers together. "Please don't make me feel older than I am."

"O-oh, I'm sorry!" Diane gasped, her cheeks lighting up in embarrassment. I gave her a small comforting smile, and she took a deep breath before she stammered. "S-Sebastian, the boss wishes to speak with you."

My smile fell as I stared at her, and once she noticed my happy expression fade, she averted her gaze to the ground nervously. "Did he mention why?"

She shook her head, and my lips curled down into a small frown. I stood to my feet, though, and adjusted my tie before I grasped my suit jacket off of the back of my chair and slipped into it easily. Approaching the door, I nodded to the secretary. "Thank you, Diane."

She nodded back, stepping aside so I could exit my cubicle and travel down the cramped walkway toward my boss' office. I swallowed uneasily as my eyes focused on his closed door, the entrance appearing ominous somehow and making anxiety prick at my heart.

"Oi, Sebastian!" Bard called out in a whisper, leaning toward the doorway of his cubicle as he watched me stride by. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," I confessed, clearing my throat to prevent my voice from cracking. "I guess he wants to see me."

Bard's face fell at my words. "Shit."

I tipped my head in agreement and continued walking forward, wringing my hands together as I did so. What could this be about? My performance yesterday? Or, rather, my lack of performance yesterday? Perhaps he was going to discuss what happened at the company trip. Oh god, he was going to fire me for showing up to dinner wigged out of my mind. Or fire me for supposedly "going to get food" before dinner. I could just hear his words now.

_"That steak cost me a fortune and you wasted it all, Michaelis! Get out of my sight and never come back!"_

Fuck. I was going to lose my job over a plate of cooked beef.

Opening my boss' door, I slid inside, words immediately spilling from my mouth. "Sir, about the company dinner, I was really planning on eating the steak but-"

I stopped speaking as I locked gazes with my employer, his eyes hard as stone and his lips set into a grim frown, making his wrinkles appear more pronounced than usual. Flicking my eyes to the right, my heart stopped as my gaze locked with another pair of orbs, equally as hard and shimmering a portentous gold. I had seen this man before, it seemed, though not in person, for his stature intimidated me greatly. He was perhaps only a few inches taller than me, though I could see his bare biceps flexing and bulging with simple motions, his broad shoulders and muscular chest making his shirt cling to his frame; it was a wonder it hadn't ripped yet. A flawlessly polished badge was pinned over his left breast pocket, the honorable title LIEUTENANT glinting at the top of the emblem even though there was no light to make it shine. A name tag was perched over his opposite pocket, the little gold plate presenting C. FAUSTUS in neat black lettering.

Lieutenant Faustus gave me a curt nod, signaling for me to shut the door behind me. I did so sluggishly, my back leaning up against the wood as I felt every ounce of energy leave me. My face had paled, a cold sweat forming at the nape of my neck and dampening the collar of my shirt. Was I going to jail for getting stoned at a company retreat? Was I going to a special place where I would be surrounded by other men who had been caught getting stoned at various company retreats? Was it really that _illegal?_ Maybe I'd be locked up with infamous drug lords from around the world, guys who had cut off people's limbs simply because they gave them a weird look. Lord help my soul.

"Mr. Michaelis, I need to take you down to the station for questioning," the lieutenant spoke up, his words making my heart practically drop into my stomach and dissolve in my digestive acid. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done drugs. My mom always told me they would get me in trouble if I ever did them. Dad told me I'd be a failure if I got involved with drugs. But I didn't listen. I didn't listen to them. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I should've listened. I should've heeded your warnings. Now I'm going to get raped by a gang of drug lords.

My thoughts came to a brief halt when I watched the lieutenant pull out a pair of handcuffs, the metal reflecting somehow in the nonexistent light of the room.

"H-handcuffs? For questioning?" I croaked, barely able to find my voice.

"They're merely a precaution," he said smoothly, gently yet firmly grasping a hold of one of my arms. "In case you were to attempt to hurt someone."

Oh no. They think I'm violent. They think all of the drugs have gone to my head and I'm no longer a decent human being. They think I can't control myself. What if I have to go to rehab? What will happen to Ciel when he finds out his dad is a drug addict? He'll be afraid of me. He'll think I'll hurt someone. I've never felt the need to hurt anyone when I got high. I just felt relaxed. And I consumed a little more than usual. That's it. That's all. I'm not a bad person. Or am I? I knew I shouldn't have touched that weed. That vile, awful weed. It's turned me into a monster!

"I-I don't do meth or anything like that." I mumbled over my shoulder to the lieutenant as he clasped a cuff around one of my wrists.

"That's good to know," he said breathily with a raised brow, almost as if he was trying to hold back laughter. He clicked the free cuff around my other wrist, the metal digging into my skin slightly and making me wince. Faustus opened the door of the office before he gripped onto the chain of the cuffs with one hand and placed his other on my shoulder to guide me.

Gulping, I began to walk forward slowly, shame contorting my features solemnly. I kept my eyes to the ground, practically flinching as I heard people gasp in surprise as they watched me walk by.

"Sebastian!" Bard exclaimed, darting out of his chair and over to the doorway as fast as a speeding bullet. From the corner of my eye I could see his face turning red in anger, a vein bulging in his forehead; he always hated cops. "Hey, buddy, what the fuck do you think you're doing with my friend? He did nothing! You hear? Nothing!"

"You'd be wise not to harass a lieutenant of the police force," Faustus growled, though he continued to guide me forward. Before Bard could speak up again, I flashed him a small reassuring smile, letting him know that it would all be okay. From the way his complexion went from angry to sympathetic, it seemed he understood.

As I strode toward my unknown fate, however, I was unsure myself if everything would truly be okay. And, once we were outside and I was being led into the back of a police car, I was fairly sure one of two things would happen: I'd die here in the back of this car from pure anxiety, or I'd die in prison from who knows what. Neither sounded very appealing.

My eyes were sorrowful as I glanced up at the huge building from the car window, noting the various faces of my coworkers watching me out their windows. Tears started to prick at my eyes when I saw that Bard was one of the onlookers, his arm held high in the air and his fist clenched. This was a symbol from our football days, for our team would always wish each other well with this gesture that silently told us to "stay strong out there." Though he couldn't see it, I had my fists clenched as tight as I possibly could with the cuffs around my wrists. It was possible that I'd never see this building again, and that fact filled me with dread, as much as I hated coming here every day.

No matter what, though, I'd stay strong out there.

 

* * *

 

The room was practically empty, though it seemed inhumanely small. It felt like the walls were closing in on me with each passing _tick_ from the clock on the wall. The claustrophobic sensation made me even more tense.

Glancing up at the dark grey walls, I searched for something, anything to distract my mind with. There was a desk in front of me, and an empty chair across from where I sat. It was just like all of those crime dramas I'd absentmindedly watch at night when nothing else was on. Besides the desk and the other chair, there was a single clock on the wall, ticking mockingly. I was sure someone had to be watching right now, for I could see a little illuminated red light on the camera attached to a corner of the opposite wall. I couldn't imagine solitary confinement; just sitting here alone for fifteen - or twenty minutes, had it been? - was enough to drive me insane.

 _Why am I here_ kept repeating in my mind. I was starting to believe that I wouldn't be in an interrogation room simply for getting high in a hotel room. No, there had to be something more. Or perhaps the laws had just gotten a bit stricter since I was a kid.

Looking down at my still cuffed hands in my lap, I blinked as I stared at the shining metal binds. Was there a reason I was still cuffed? I wasn't sure if this was proper protocol or not. But, then again...

_"They're merely a precaution. In case you were to attempt to hurt someone."_

I heard the lieutenant's voice in my head once again. Well, I certainly couldn't hurt anyone when I'm trapped in a room alone, so what's the deal? Unless they're there to protect the officers who plan to question me.

Something didn't add up. I had a completely clean record - well, except for a couple speeding tickets. However condemning going over 25 is, though, that certainly didn't justify me as a violent person. No, these handcuffs were still clasped onto my wrists for a reason, I just wasn't informed of said reason.

The soft click of the door handle made me perk up, and I watched as the entrance to the room slowly swung open, air displacing from the heavy wood. Two figures stepped inside, both of them appearing stoic, yet one was a bit more grim than the other. I blinked, dumbfounded, as I watched my boss approach the desk and take a seat across from me, his stony eyes piercing mine as he calmly rested his clasped hands on the table. The other vistor, Lieutenant Faustus, easily shut the door behind him as he took a few small steps into the room, his arms crossed while he stood behind my boss.

After a few moments of tense silence, I finally found the courage to break it. "W-what's going on? You haven't told me anything."

"We just need to ask a few questions, that's all," the lieutenant replied coolly. His golden eyes revealed the faintest hint of comfort, as if he wanted me to be at ease. This was overshadowed by fiery determination, however; that emotion was made very clear.

"Sir?" My eyes flicked over to my boss. "Why are you here? Are you even allowed to be in here?"

"Merely to observe," he responded, though the words were hissed through his teeth and there was a bite to his tone. Yep, I was still on his shit list.

"He is allowed to be in here," the lieutenant answered. "If his presence makes you uncomfortable, however, I will ask him to leave."

My boss turned and shot the police officer a deathly glare, his typical grim expression contorting into one of pure anger. I forced myself to suck in a breath, albeit a shaky one. I didn't want to come off as a weakling to my boss, even though he consistently scared the shit out of me. No, I was a man! On the outside, anyway. So I would pretend that I had just as much bravery on the inside.

"No, it's okay," I said, shaking my head as I cleared my throat. "I don't mind him being in here."

I saw a brief expression of satisfaction flash across my boss' face before it settled back into its normal grim appearance.

"All right, then," the lieutenant spoke, his eyes narrowing a bit as he focused on me. "We'll start with asking what you did last week."

"Last week?" I repeated, my eyes widening a bit. The officer nodded.

"You can recount last week's events, can't you?"

"Well, yeah," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "But I'm not sure they'll be worth knowing."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Faustus breathed, his gaze turning threatening. I bit my inner lip anxiously, before I averted my eyes as I recalled last week.

"Nothing special happened. I went to work every day, came home, and went to sleep. I may have went grocery shopping a couple times. And I stop at the gas station every morning before work for cheap coffee."

"And this is your usual routine?"

"Yes. I mean, once in a while I'll go to the bar or work out, but other than that I just go to work and go home," I confirmed honestly. The lieutenant stopped his questioning for a moment, as if he were inwardly analyzing my responses for flaws. My boss remained silent, his eyes staring through me the entire time.

"Well, there's a problem with your story."

"T-there is?" My mouth practically fell to the floor, brows furrowing in protest. Faustus nodded, his golden irises darkening.

"Mm, there is. According to text message history and security camera evidence from a local restaurant, you met up with a young lady at Rhonda's Place on Thursday."

"Oh! Elizabeth!" I exclaimed aloud. I had completely forgotten. "Yes, that's true. It totally slipped my mind."

Lieutenant Faustus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A date completely slipped your mind? Do you go out often?"

"I- Well, no, I-"

"Because if you do, then your supposed 'routine' would be a lie."

This atmosphere was intense. I could feel beads of sweat forming at the nape of my neck, making the hair on my neckline stick to my skin uncomfortably. One thing those boring crime dramas did get right was the nerve-wracking questioning. My heart was pounding so fast I felt like it would explode.

"Yes, it slipped my mind," I breathed in a faux composed tone, letting out a long exhale. "I did go on a date with a girl on Thursday."

"And how did that date go?"

"Well. I guess it went okay." My face twisted up in uncertainty. I actually didn't know if it went okay or not, since she never spoke to me after that.

"What do you mean by that? Did something else happen that 'slipped your mind?'"

Faustus was very persistent. He approached the table, standing beside my boss as he glared down at me. I gulped nervously, before I shrugged. "I mean that I don't know if it went okay or not. I thought it went well, but I never heard from her after that."

"Is that so," Faustus hummed, his index finger rubbing his lower lip in thought. "Sit tight, Mr. Michaelis; there's something I'd like to show you."

With that, the lieutenant quickly exited the room, leaving my boss and I alone in an unbearable silence. His stony eyes continued to stare me down, their gaze observing my every move and gesture. I flicked my orbs toward the ground in an attempt to avoid the awkwardness, though I could still see his glaring from the corner of my eye. After a few long minutes, the door to the interrogation room opened once again, the lieutenant returning, yet this time he was wheeling a small TV into the room, the remote gripped firmly in his hand. He positioned the television directly in front of me, before he turned toward my direction as he spoke.

"We have some security footage we'd like to review with you."

I blinked, my brows furrowing slightly. "O-okay."

With a click on the remote, a picture immediately popped up on the screen, depicting a restaurant atmosphere in black and white. I could clearly see the visage of Elizabeth and I dining in the corner, though our images were blurred greatly.

"If only they could afford decent fucking security cameras," Faustus murmured under his breath. All of us - including my boss, who had eagerly turned around to face the TV - were watching the peaceful scene of two figures smiling and eating a meal.

Then, suddenly, I flinched.

The officer instantly caught it, his thumb pausing the tape at the exact moment I moved, the camera capturing my shocked expression.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Faustus narrowed his eyes at me. "What was that about, Mr. Michaelis? Everything seemed to be going well, and then you jumped out of your skin all of a sudden."

"I- Well..." I trailed off for a moment, my expression falling into one of shame. I couldn't tell them the truth; they'd think I was a lunatic. And, besides, _I_ wasn't even sure of what happened. Was it a PTSD thing? I had never been diagnosed with PTSD, but I was pretty sure that flashbacks were common. Was it _really_ a flashback though? After I had gotten a hold of myself, however, it felt like I dreamt up the entire situation. Perhaps it was both?

"Mr. Michaelis?"

I blinked, my thoughts momentarily subsiding as I glanced between my boss and the police officer, both of the men looking at me quizzically. "O-oh, well, I-" I cleared my scratchy throat, my dried tongue fruitlessly licking my lips. "She startled me. That's all."

"She startled you?" Faustus asked, promptly rewinding the tape and playing it. He paused it in the same place after watching it once again. "And how did she startle you? It seemed like all she did was reach her fork toward your plate. Or are you typically a selfish man when it comes to your food?"

"I am," I confirmed quickly, flashing him a sheepish smile. "I'm very selfish when it comes to my food." My boss let out a snort at my proclamation, where as the lieutenant rose a skeptical brow.

"That's interesting. It appeared that you actually pushed your plate toward her in offering," Faustus hummed. My heart dropped at his words, tears of sweat dripping down my collar. He was right. I had pushed my plate toward Elizabeth in encouragement. Fuck, was I terrible at lying.

The lieutenant, at least for the moment, seemed satisfied with my answers, for he let the tape play a little longer before he popped the DVD out and hastily put a different one in. Before playing this disc, however, he flicked his eyes over to me.

"What did you two do after dinner, Mr. Michaelis?"

"We went out in the parking lot," I answered honestly. "And we talked for a while before we left."

Lieutenant Faustus made a small, pleased grunt before he clicked a button on the remote, and once more another glimpse of scenery was splayed out across the television. This time, it recorded a bunch of various parked cars, and a single couple holding hands was walking across the lot casually.

"Cute," Faustus remarked, though it seemed more spiteful than anything. Three pairs of eyes observed as the couple made their way over to a convertible, the girl sitting on the hood while the man, - aka, my awkward self - stood looking at the sky. Eventually, all three of us stiffened as Elizabeth and I began to wrestle atop her car, my cheeks tinting an embarrassed red while I witnessed my actions. I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, my skin prickling with the humiliation of knowing my boss and a police officer were watching such a shameful thing. They probably thought I was a sex-driven douchebag.

"It seems you forgot to mention the part where you dry humped each other," the officer mumbled. I kept my head down, gritting my teeth as I spoke.

"I didn't mention it, but I do remember doing it."

"Oh, good. I'm glad it didn't slip your mind," my boss hissed, and my eyes widened in surprise when I heard him finally utter words. His statement must have shocked Faustus as well, for he blinked in bewilderment for a few moments before an amused expression lit up his face.

"Yes, that is a good thing. So, Mr. Michaelis, would you say that this whole display was completely consensual?"

"Absolutely," I replied promptly, not missing a beat. "Elizabeth pulled me on top of her."

"It would seem that way," the lieutenant agreed. I caught a glimpse of my boss shifting in his chair, his shoulders tensing underneath his suit jacket.

"Okay, you've questioned me," I said, my orbs focusing on the officer. "Now, can I know what's going on? I want to know why I'm being questioned and I haven't been told anything."

Faustus sighed, his large arms crossing over his chest as he regarded me. "That girl, Elizabeth, has been missing since Friday."

My face went blank. I swore I felt my heart stop. Disbelief made my body shudder slightly, the blood in my veins running cold. Elizabeth was _missing?_ How? Why? What happened to her? So many questions ran through my mind, fast enough to make me dizzy.

"E-Elizabeth is missing?"

"Yes, she is. We received a call from her mother Saturday morning. Apparently, she never showed up for work Friday night."

Color drained from my face in panic. I couldn't believe she was missing. What could've happened to her? Elizabeth didn't seem to be one to skip town, especially since she openly stated that she was so spoiled by her parents. That meant that something bad must've happened.

"I-I didn't do anything," I blurted out. "Elizabeth and I weren't even that involved with each other-"

"See, I have a hard time believing that, Mr. Michaelis," Lieutenant Faustus interrupted, his hand digging into his trouser pocket before he pulled out a plastic bag, a cell phone nestled inside. Slapping a pair of latex gloves on his hands, he then opened the bag and grabbed onto the mobile device, pulling it out and showing it to me. "This is Elizabeth's. We found it in her car, which was still parked in front of her house as if she never even left for work. Interestingly enough, the phone was found in the passenger seat, which leads me to believe that someone was with her the night she went missing. That isn't the important aspect, however."

I gulped as he put the phone on speaker and called a number, a few soft rings echoing through the room. Eventually, an automated woman's voice answered, telling us we had no new voicemails. Hitting a designated number, Faustus waited as the voice briefly silenced, before it proclaimed 'You have five old messages.' I cringed as he allowed them to play.

"Can't we talk about this? Look, if it's my age, I get it. I'm not the youngest man, I know, but I swear I'll do anything to make this work. You honestly have no clue how happy you made me the other night. Please, _please_ call me back."

"Elizabeth, _please_. At least tell me what I've done to vex you. I deserve an explanation before you just leave me."

"Elizabeth, come on. I'm serious. Don't act like this. Just talk to me."

"I'm very sorry if I scared you at dinner; I promise it won't ever happen again. I don't usually behave that way. Please, Lizzie."

"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE?!"

I winced visibly at the last message. My voice sounded so malicious, so rage-filled that it scared me to hear it again. Both men were staring at me, their eyes ominously dark.

"As I'm sure you already know, this doesn't sound very promising for you, Mr. Michaelis."

I shook my head, tears threatening to fill up my eyes as panic made my heart flutter. "Lieutenant, please, I know it seems bad but I promise I never-"

"What the fuck did you do to my daughter, you piece of shit?!" Suddenly, my boss sprung out of his seat, balling his fist up and he immediately crushed his knuckles into my jaw with a bone-shattering force, my body flying back as the chair tipped over, and I hit the ground with a heavy thud, the chair clattering beside me.

"Mr. Midford, get a hold of yourself!" I heard the lieutenant shout. "We don't need a lawsuit on our hands!"

"That bastard did something to my little girl! Where the fuck is she, huh, you fucker?! Where the fuck did you take my daughter? You better tell me now or so help me, I will rip you to shreds with my own fucking hands!"

"That's enough! I'm going to page another officer to escort you out-"

"You're going to let the bastard get away with this?! You'll regret this, Claude! I'll destroy your fucking career!"

The voices started to get muffled and distorted as my skull ached, my thoughts swimming as dizziness threatened to pull me into unconsciousness. My temple hit the tiled floor hard when I fell, and an intense pain radiated through my brain, making my limbs twitch in agony. My vision was blurred, and I blinked repeatedly, cringing at the unpleasant sensations in my head.

"Mr. Michaelis, are you all right?" The voice I heard sounded soft and far away, though I felt strong arms wrap around me and carefully pull my body up off of the floor. "Can you stand?"

I made an attempt to talk, but it felt as if I'd swallow my tongue, my words probably turning out slurred and incomprehensible, so I settled for simply shaking my head. The lieutenant held me up with one arm while he grabbed the chair and set it upright with the other. Gently sitting me down in the seat, he studied me carefully for injuries.

"Fucking bastard. He could've broken your jaw," he growled. "Are you all right?"

"F-fine," I breathed, lowering my head as the dizziness continued to nauseate me. Although my stomach felt uneasy, there was something else that was unsettling; I had went out on a date with my boss' daughter. I didn't even know he had any children, let alone a daughter that appealing! Had I known they were related, I wouldn't have gotten involved at all.

"Mr. Michaelis? You're not blacking out on me, are you?"

"Nn, no. I'm okay," I assured, the dizziness slowly beginning to fade. The officer gave a grunt as he reached down, his hands hastily uncuffing the metal binds on my wrists.

"Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine, really," I huffed, rolling my shoulders back with a groan. "It's just a little bruising. I would've done the same thing in his position."

The officer nodded as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, relief clearly evident in his eyes from my words. "He's pretty overwhelmed. Like you said, I suppose any father would be. At any rate, I'd like to keep you all day for questioning, if you don't mind."

"That's fine, but..." I trailed off momentarily, a frown curling my lips. "I need to be home at my usual time. I don't want my son to know this is going on."

"You have a son?" Faustus asked, flinching back a little in shock. I nodded grimly, and he frowned.

"All right. We'll make sure you're home at a reasonable time. We'd like to question you tomorrow as well, so when you leave for work in the morning, come to the station instead. We've already ensured that you'll be on paid leave while we get this case sorted out."

I nodded slowly, my brain sluggishly processing his statements. As long as Ciel didn't find out about this, everything would be okay. I couldn't imagine the look he'd give me once he found out that I was the suspect in a girl's disappearance. He'd hate me. Hell, I'd hate myself.

"Mr. Michaelis?"

I blinked, glancing up at the lieutenant. "Yeah?"

He was frowning, his golden eyes glimmering with an emotion I couldn't quite pinpoint. He seemed to be completely serious, though a hint of compassion shone in his irises. "You claim to have a son, which I don't doubt. If you do have a child, then you must understand what Mr. Midford is going through. I don't have any children, but I can imagine that losing one is the most painful thing a parent can go through. For his sake, and for the sake of your child, I'd like to know the honest truth: did you do something to Elizabeth Midford?"

Sucking in a deep breath, I stared into his eyes, my gaze unwavering. "No, I didn't do anything to her."

Faustus' frown deepened slightly, though the corner of his lip curled up hopefully. "I'd like to believe you. Currently, the evidence isn't in your favor... But if you didn't do it, we'll find a way to prove it."

I gave him a small smile, nodding my head in agreement. For the time being, it seemed like Lieutenant Faustus really wanted to believe I was innocent. I was thankful for his kindness, even though his main goal was finding out what happened to Elizabeth.

"All right, Mr. Michaelis. Let's continue the questioning."

 

* * *

 

As soon as my butt sank down into the leather seat of my car, I was completely lost.

I didn't know what to do.

Luckily, Lieutenant Faustus was kind enough to give me a lift back to my work so I'd be able to retrieve my car, and he left me with a reminder to go to the station in the morning. I had to slyly sneak into my vehicle, for I was worried people may be able to see me from their cubicle windows, but I was convinced that no one had. Now, I could go about my own business as if nothing ever happened, but there was a problem.

In about thirty minutes, it would be my normal time to arrive home, however, I didn't feel like I could go home and face Ciel. School had already ended, which meant he was probably either currently working on his homework or playing his violin in the living room. I could admit I wasn't the smartest man, but I knew well that my son wasn't lacking in the intelligence department by any means. He noticed when my face was sunken in grimly, or when I was excited beyond my normal demeanor. As soon as I walked in the door, he'd pipe up, "You're really chipper today. Bard brought you an extra doughnut this morning, huh?" Or "Are you okay? You look glum. You must have had extra reports to file."

He was right every time.

It didn't matter how hard I tried to conceal my emotions, Ciel could see through me as if I were a freshly polished window. Because of this, I was terrified to go home. I couldn't imagine walking through the door and him turning to look at me with piercing eyes.

_"You look terrified, Daddy. Almost as if the lieutenant of the police force took you in for questioning today."_

"Ah!" I exclaimed, jolting suddenly at the dreadful thought. My knee roughly slammed into the bottom of my steering wheel, and I flinched as a surge of pain shot through my knee cap before it began to numb. "Fuck," I gasped, running my hands through my hair in exasperation. I was officially a fucking mess.

Just then, I felt a strong vibration in my trouser pocket, and I leaned to my left as I crammed my hand inside of it and dug around for my phone. Pulling my cellular out, my screen lit up and I clicked onto my new message.

_Oi Sebastian, if you're not someone's buttfuck buddy already, then go to the court ASAP. I'll be there after the warden cuts our binds for the day._

I let out a sigh of relief after reading Bard's message. At least I wouldn't have to go home. I jammed my key into the ignition and hastily fired up my car before I impatiently threw my car into reverse and smoothly pulled out of my spot. I felt relieved that I'd get to avoid my son for a while longer, however, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had forgotten something.

 

* * *

 

I stepped out of my car, my arms crossing over my chest as I shut the door. A cold breeze suddenly kicked up, and I winced, stifling a shiver. Goose bumps would only make me feel more frigid. Slinking past the rusted and broken chain link gate, I stepped onto the cracked concrete court. I could still clearly remember when the court was first painted, the ground reeking of the smell, yet us kids didn't mind at the time.

Looking up, I noticed half of the chain net was missing, probably due to careless kids hanging on it and what not. The other half that still remained was badly rusted, its color a deep, dark brown. I could also easily recall when the chain was brand new; in fact, _I_ was one of the lads who helped install it, along with Bard and a couple other boys. We had to borrow a ladder from Mr. Smith down the street, since we had yet to hit our growth spurts, and we were all still only about 5' tall. Everyone was constantly fucking around, so a five minute job turned into an hour, especially since the boys would shake the ladder furiously whenever someone tried to climb on it, and we'd be unable to keep our balance. Boy, did that leave us bruised and scraped up at the end of the day.

I smiled to myself as I thought back on all of this. It felt like it all happened a couple years ago, when really, it had been over twenty. The paint on the concrete was severely chipped, and so faded that you could hardly tell it had ever been painted on in the first place. The chain link around this place was no longer shiny and new; instead, it was dented badly in most areas, and rusty in others. And, to top it off, even the little kids that played here aren't the same. Bobby B. committed suicide a couple years ago after his wife passed away from cancer. Nigel is locked up in prison again, since the bastard keeps beating his wife to a pulp in his drunken states; he used to be the nicest boy we knew. Carl "Burger" Burggs is a heroin addict who is supposedly living with some girl a few towns away, and Patters, the prissy rich boy who always acted like he was better at everything, is currently working as a bus boy. Oh, the irony.

Then, you have Bard and I, who haven't changed much, except for in size. Granted, our parents aren't around anymore either, so that makes a big difference. It was always embarrassing when Mom would pull up in front of the court and yell "Time to come home, Bassy!" The boys referred to me as "Sea Bass" for quite a while thanks to that.

"Those were some good times," I sighed, my reminiscing smile curling into a solemn frown. It was a shame that things had to change after high school. Our gang of friends stuck with each other from elementary to our senior years, but after that, we all split up.

Our plans to go on a road trip crumbled. I wasn't able to go, because I had newly proposed to Rachel, and I had to dedicate my time to looking for a decent job and a place to live for us. Bard chose to stay behind since I couldn't go, for we were best buds, and he wasn't that close with the other lads, anyway. Bobby's dad had suddenly fallen ill, and one of our newer companions, Charlie, wanted to focus on getting ready for college. The only ones to carry through with the trip was Nigel and Burger, and even they returned eventually. The last time we all saw each other was at Bobby's funeral, but by that point, we knew it wasn't the same. We all had our own lives, our own families, and our own worries. We didn't need each other anymore.

"Looks like you're deep in thought."

I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder and catching a glimpse of Bard. His tie was loosened to the point that it was amazing that it was still hanging around his neck, and the sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He casually slid through the broken gate and began approaching me, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Remember the day we hung that up?" I asked, my eyes flicking up to eye the chain that was still fastened to the rim.

"Oh yeah," Bard said with a proud grin, one that was identical to the accomplished smile he wore as a child on the exact day. "Nigel and Bobby, man. If it wasn't for those jackasses, we could've actually played a game that day. But they just had to screw around, and bruise everybody's tailbones for it."

"Haha, yeah," I nodded with a sorrowful smile. "Bobby had one hell of an arm on him, though."

"Yeah, he did," Bard breathed, his lips falling into a frown. "I miss that motherfucker. He bailed me out of trouble with my Pops so many times."

"Bobby and Burger were the best at that. Nigel was an expert at helping anyone sneak out of the house, and then Charlie was stuck driving us all around since he was the only one with a car."

"A shitty one, at that," Bard laughed, the contagious sound making me chuckle. "But back then we all thought we were kings in that crappy little beater."

I nodded, and the conversation briefly fell silent. The chilling breeze continued to kick up fallen leaves around us, and the rusted chain would sway back and forth slightly. I knew it was killing Bard to keep the conversation so casual; he _had_ seen me get escorted out of work in handcuffs, after all. I think he was simply trying to find a way to approach the subject in a manner that didn't come off as rude or accusing.

"You can ask," I whispered, flicking my eyes in his direction. "I don't mind."

Bard's expression relaxed; I could tell he was grateful that I mentioned it first. He cleared his throat, his dress shoe grinding a pebble into the ground as he regarded me. "It's not that I think you did something, Sea Bass, but... _Did_ you do something?"

"No, I didn't," I sighed, frowning at the cracked cement. "But there's evidence - quite a bit of evidence - that says otherwise."

Bard raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Like what?"

I took a deep breath, my nervous eyes scanning over the area in attempt to ease my anxiety. It was better to get this all out at once, and I did exactly that, speaking fast enough where Bard couldn't interrupt. "Elizabeth's missing. I guess she never showed up for work Friday night, and her mother reported her missing Saturday morning. Apparently, I'm a person of interest because I acted a bit... Off, during the date, and when we went to say goodbye things got a bit heated. I think the lieutenant believes it wasn't completely consensual. And when we were away at the company trip, I called her phone and left some urgent messages that came off as a little crazed, I guess."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait," Bard demanded, holding his hands up to stop me. "You acted _off_ on the date? I thought you told me it went great."

"Well, it did," I assured, scratching the back of my head uneasily.

"So what do you mean by 'off?' Did you hurt her?"

"No! No, I'd never! I just- I flinched a little."

"You flinched?"

"Yeah."

"And, what? Why did you flinch?"

"I don't know. I just did. I mean in person it wasn't that bad, but it looked weird on the security camera."

Bard's brows were furrowed, his face scrunched up as he tried to make sense of the situation. I averted my eyes to the ground, shame threatening to tint my cheeks red. I knew the thought of hurting Elizabeth never crossed my mind, but the evidence seemed so incriminating that I couldn't help feeling guilty.

"The worst part is, our boss is her father."

That took my friend off guard completely, for he nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. His eyes were as big as saucers, pupils practically concealing his irises. "You're shitting me, right?"

I sighed, my complexion sullen. "No."

"Fucking hell, Sebastian," Bard groaned, his hands gripping his short blond hair in frustration. "Do you have a death wish?"

My sadness was quickly replaced by anger, and I spat my words at him like venom. "If I did, I would've allowed Rachel to kill me years ago!"

Silence immediately fell over us. Even the light breeze settled down, the leaves freezing in their places on the ground. I felt upset that such an argument had to take place here. Granted, many fights had taken place on this court, but Bard and I were always the ones to break them up. Those little disagreements were over the game, however. Our situation was on a more serious subject.

"I wouldn't have went out with her had I known," I whispered softly, almost in a soothing voice in apology to Bard. "Hell, if I'd known this was going to happen, I wouldn't have spoken to her at all."

"I know, " he breathed, giving me a sympathetic glance. "I know you wouldn't have."

For the rest of the time, my friend and I stood there in silence, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the creaking of the chain link fencing.

Never had we been so solemn in a place that normally filled us with peace.

 

* * *

 

I cautiously opened the front door, slyly slipping inside and shutting it behind me as silently as I could manage. I stood there for a minute, my eyes assessing the area around me. I was hoping I could make it up the stairs and to my room without getting noticed. It would be easier that way.

"Daddy, where have you been? I was worried."

No such luck.

My son, who had previously been reading a book, had slammed it shut before he darted over to me, his arms wrapping around my waist and hugging me tightly while he stared up at me with a pout on his lips and his brows furrowed. "You didn't call me."

"Shit. I did forget," I confessed under my breath, a soft sigh leaving me. I had already slipped up. I was sure Ciel was already suspicious, so I just had to play it cool and keep him distracted. He couldn't analyze me if I was too busy analyzing him. "I'm sorry, Ciel. It slipped my mind. Bard wanted to play some ball after work and I forgot to let you know that I'd be home late." I ruffled his hair in apology, hoping he'd be satisfied with that.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be, because his pupils flickered back and forth as they studied each one of my eyes carefully, examining every inch of my features. I swear he'd be a perfect detective, he seemed to scrutinize so well. "Well... It's okay... If Bard needed you, Daddy, then I forgive you."

I gave him a genuine smile, forcing myself to stifle a sigh of relief. Well, at least for now, his curiosity seemed quenched. Mussing up his hair once more, I stepped past him and began to walk toward the kitchen before I mussed up my own. "So what sounds good for dinner?"

Ciel followed after me, his tone light as he spoke. "Anything with potatoes. How was work?"

The corner of my lips threatened to twitch downward; I was grateful that my back was to my son for now. I was unsure if his question was meant to prod for information, or if it was meant to be a simple, light-hearted inquiry.

_Of course it was meant to be a light-hearted inquiry, you idiot. He's not an actual detective. Being stuck in an interrogation room all day has made me paranoid as all hell._

"About as good as filing reports get," I replied equally as cheerfully, chuckling at my own words. If only I could've lied this smoothly as a teenager; it would've saved me from a lot of trouble. I headed over to the stairs, giving Ciel a brief backwards glance. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable before I start on dinner. Maybe we'll have stir fry."

"Stir fry sounds good, Daddy."

I gave a small nod before I started my ascent up the stairs, more and more relief coming to me the further I distanced myself from my son. I didn't usually change as soon as I got home, but I didn't care about this being unexpected. If my lie were true, that would mean I had played basketball in my suit, which would've been difficult and very sweat-inducing. And, the truth was, being interrogated by police was equally - if not substantially more sweat-inducing. At this point, it felt like this suit was a second skin, and that was one of the worst sensations; I already hated dressing up, and this made me hate it all the more.

As soon as I got to my room, I peeled my clothes off in a hurried fashion, breathing a tranquil exhale once I was free of the professional attire. I grabbed a pair of boxers and jeans, and I easily dressed in them, relishing in the feeling of casual apparel. Striding over to my closet, I stretched my arms nonchalantly as I opened the door and reached inside. My eyes widened in surprise, however, when the tips of my fingers met empty clothes hangers.

I scanned the clothing items, trying to assess everything I had. It seemed that none of my work suits had been touched; however, at least six of my t-shirts were missing, possibly more.

"I just did laundry," I murmured to myself, scratching my head in confusion. The laundry chute was barren this morning, too, when I dropped my underwear down. Something didn't add up.

As if a light bulb switched on, I realised something: I did remember seeing one of my t-shirts in Ciel's laundry basket the other day. I figured that it had gotten mixed in with his clothes, since we only had one chute, and that happened quite frequently.

"But it's not in here. He must've kept it," I mumbled, my brows furrowing. I wasn't sure why Ciel would steal my clothes. It was possible that he didn't realise he had them, but I doubted that. I was quite a bit bigger than him, so he should notice the obvious difference in shirt sizes when he folded his clothing.

_Maybe he's grown. That's always a possibility._

I'd be lying if I didn't find my son to be abnormally tiny. He was very short for his age, and I didn't understand why. Even his doctor stressed how he was underweight every time we visited, and I was unsure what to do about that because Ciel easily consumes fatty foods - and normal sized portions - without a second thought. His height was something I didn't understand, either, for Rachel was a taller woman, taller than most of the other girls in high school, and I stood at a solid 6'1". It was possible that he simply hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, for everyone knew that girls matured faster than boys, it was just odd to me that he was in high school yet he still appeared to be a young middle schooler.

Shrugging those thoughts off, I grabbed onto a navy blue tee and tugged it over my head, the soft cotton caressing my skin in a more appealing fashion than my dress shirt. In all honesty, I should've showered, since I had been sweaty all day, but I didn't want to act even more odd. A shower tomorrow morning would do just fine.

Climbing down the stairs, I looked to my side to see Ciel heading back toward the couch with his book in his hand, and I spoke up. "Ciel, have you been doing laundry? My t-shirts are almost all gone."

Ciel froze in his tracks, and his voice was quiet as he answered. "It must have slipped my mind. I'll do some before I go to bed. Sorry for forgetting."

I frowned deeply, unsatisfied with his answer. That was an obvious lie. The fact that Ciel lied to my face so easily made my stomach churn unpleasantly. We had promised each other we'd have no secrets, and we'd never lie to each other. Was he breaking the promise? Well, not like I was one to talk. I wasn't being completely truthful at the moment, either. "The laundry chute was empty this morning," I continued, making it known that I saw through his lie. Walking up behind him, I put my hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently, my eyes trying to judge the width between his shoulder blades. It did look like he may have grown a bit. "Have you been wearing them? Did you hit a late growth spurt?"

Ciel cleared his throat before he nodded, his tone now nervous as he realised I knew he wasn't telling the truth. "I-I think so. My clothes are getting a little too tight, and your shirts were just more comfortable. I'm sorry for lying, Daddy. I didn't want you to be mad at me." He tilted his head back to look at me, his eyes pleading.

I gave him a soft smile. I disliked that he lied to me, but I supposed I could understand where he was coming from. I'd hate it if I had to wear clothes that no longer fit, although I didn't know that it had gotten that bad for him. I removed my hands from his shoulders to give him a pat on the back. "I figured as much. We'll go shopping this weekend to find you some better fitting clothes. After all, isn't homecoming approaching? You are planning on going, aren't you?"

I was hoping he'd say "Yes," for I had been looking forward to Ciel's homecoming. Now that he was finally a freshman, he'd get to experience so many new things that he didn't get to do at his other schools. I was aware that he didn't have proper formal wear for such an occasion, but I would easily break the bank to buy him attire for it. After all, everyone should get to experience the excitement of homecoming. Plus, I was curious to see what girl he'd take to the dance. Ciel had never mentioned any females, nor had he ever brought one home. I knew my son seemed to be more of a loner type, but I wanted to see him go out and expand his horizons. He would have much more fun dancing with a girl than he would staying home reading a book, I could guarantee that.

"A shopping trip sounds like fun," he said with a smile, though it fell a little at the mention of homecoming. His voice remained light, however. "I was thinking about it, but I don't know if I'll be able to. I don't have anyone to go with."

"I'm sure you could find a date easily," I said with a smile as I strode toward the refrigerator. "Plus your old man would be disappointed if he doesn't get to embarrass you by making you take pictures." I stated this with a chuckle, but I hadn't been joking whatsoever. I knew it was typically a mother thing to do, take a million pictures and gush over them, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to do the same with my son. I may not post them all over social media like some parents, but I could guarantee they'd be plastered all over the walls.

Ciel sat down at the kitchen table and gave me a gentle smile. "I'll hurry up and find a date then, Daddy."

"I look forward to it. Oh, and are your classes going well? Im assuming I'll have to go to a parent-teacher meeting soon and I'd like to hear good news." I was trying to keep him distracted, and so far, it seemed to be working. Turning to look at him expectantly, he continued to smile as his fingers drummed along the cover of his book.

"Oh, of course, Daddy. My grades are very good, especially thanks to your help with my homework. All of my teachers like me."

"Oh, good. Then I'll help you with it after we finish dinner."

And I did exactly that.

I helped Ciel with every piece of homework. Both of us found it tedious the entire time, but I was more relieved that we were both preoccupied with something. For the rest of the night, he was unable to question me about my day, and that made me happier than ever.

I know we promised not to lie to each other, but it seemed that neither of us had kept it.

This was for his own good, anyway.

 

* * *

 

I stared at the glass door in front of me for a few minutes, my teeth anxiously biting into my lower lip while my fingers fidgeted. I had arrived earlier than I was supposed to, but I figured I might as well head straight here, because there was no way I'd be able to eat breakfast in my nervous state. I knew that it was simple questioning today, but still. I always felt uncomfortable around police in the first place, even when I just got pulled over for speeding. For some reason, I was always afraid they'd arrest me for something bad that I never even committed.

Now I see that my reasoning wasn't so ridiculous.

"Mr. Michaelis?"

I blinked, startled when I saw the form of another person in front of me. I had zoned out for so long that I hadn't even noticed a presence other than my own.

It was Lieutenant Faustus, and he was currently holding the door open for me, his golden eyes looking me up and down quizzically. "Mr. Michaelis? You're early, aren't you?" As if to confirm his suspicions, he glanced down at the watch on his wrist, squinting as he read it. "Why, it's not even five."

"I know," I confessed, frowning a little. "But I just figured I'd come straight here."

Faustus studied me for a few moments longer before he beckoned me inside, shutting the door behind us. My pupils scanned over the area, and I was surprised to see every desk empty.

"I'm the only one here right now. The rest of the police force doesn't show up until 5:30 unless there's an emergency or an extremely important issue," he explained, sitting himself in a black office chair. He gestured to a chair next to his, and I slowly sat down in it.

"An extremely important issue like finding Elizabeth?"

The lieutenant had reached for a coffee mug sitting on the desk in front of him, though my words startled him, his orbs widening for a brief moment. He turned his whole body in my direction to face me, his eyes now narrowing fiercly. "I'm uncertain if you're trying to convict yourself or if you truly are a man with half a brain."

Shame coursed through me at his words, and I bowed my head, my voice lowering to a whisper. "The latter."

Faustus frowned at my unexpected answer, before he stood to his feet with a sigh and strode over to small table that held a coffee machine, various creamers, and sugar packets, as well. "Want some coffee?"

I glanced over my shoulder to look at him, though his back was to me. "Sure, if it's not a bother. I drink it black."

"Surprising," he murmured under his breath. "I'm the only officer in this place that drinks straight black coffee. I think the men around here are too scared to put some hair on their chests."

I cocked my head to the side upon hearing his rambling; I wasn't sure if he was complaining of their poor choice in taste or their poor choices in general. I never thought I'd hear the lieutenant speak such things about his fellow officers.

"Here," he said, setting a steaming mug down in front of me. My eyes stared at the dark liquid for a while before I lifted the cup to my lips and took a hearty gulp of it. Caffeine was my savior at this point.

The lieutenant watched me closely as I inhaled the coffee, taking casual sips out of his own mug here and there. When I felt that his golden irises had been lingering too long, I set my mug down and spoke up. "Shouldn't you be questioning me?"

Faustus shook his head. "I told you, I'm the only one here. Technically my 'office hours' haven't even started yet, so just relax for a while." Taking a glance up at the clock on the wall, he raised his brows thoughtfully. "We can even get breakfast if you'd like."

My eyes widened at the suggestion, shock and puzzlement making my mind have a shortage. Mr. Faustus had proven to be quite an enigma so far. One minute, the man was ready to rip your heart out, the next, he was proposing breakfast. I couldn't figure out if he considered me an enemy or a friend. Perhaps both.

"Uh, I really don't need breakfast."

"I beg to differ. I can hear your stomach growling from here."

I blinked, embarrassment threatening to tint my face red. I hadn't realised my stomach was growling, yet I still shook my head insistently. "I-I promise I'm fine."

He shrugged, seeming indifferent to my answer. We sat in silence for a few long moments, the tension a bit awkward. Normally, I could strike up a conversation with just about anyone, but the lieutenant was an exception. For one, I had no idea how to approach the guy. I found myself comparing him to Rachel in the fact that I was always walking on eggshells around them, though Rachel was much more malicious. I truly believe that Rachel would've killed me if she had the chance, and I trusted that Faustus would not.

In my desperate desire to find a conversational topic, I instead found myself to be observing his features. I had seen him before on the news, so I knew his appearance well, but now it seemed much more real. In his neutral state, his lips resembled an almost grim frown, and his golden eyes were narrowed slightly, with his brows furrowed. He seemed very stern, which I supposed that matched his personality quite well. My eyes trailed down his face and to his chest, - a ping of jealousy hitting me at how well-defined his muscles were compared to mine - then down his arm, - which was, again, more defined than mine - and down to his hand...

My eyes froze on his fingers that rested on the desk, my pupils focusing in on a single digit. I was so surprised by my discovery, that I actually hadn't realised I blurted it out until I heard my empty voice. "You're married."

The lieutenant blinked a few times before he glanced down at the golden band around his left ring finger. His cheeks turned pink for a brief moment, before he muttered in a deep, throaty rumble. "Actually, that's a promise ring."

I leaned back in my chair in shock, my face twisting up in utter confusion. "A _promise ring?_ You mean like what the girls used to make us guys buy them in school to prove we were a thing? Or do you mean the 'I'm-from-a-religious-family-and-plan-to-keep-my-virginity-and-this-ring-serves-as-a-reminder' kind of thing?"

"Neither," he responded lowly, his flush darkening slightly. "My significant other and I... We don't see each other much. My job keeps me pretty busy to the point where even home seems like a distant place sometimes. Neither of us are ready to get married, but we both worry that one of us may lose our feelings since we hardly ever get to see each other. So we got promise rings to prove our commitment to each other when we're not able to assure one another with words."

I sat there, my jaw practically to the floor. This man had a _promise ring?_ The lieutenant who could virtually make anyone piss their pants just with a single glare was _that_ romantic? I couldn't believe it. But then again, my boss is married, and he had a daughter who wasn't the most repulsive creature on Earth, rather the exact opposite. I suppose anything is possible.

"Anyway," he coughed, clearing his throat in attempt to also clear up his reddened complexion. "You have a kid, don't you? Where's your ring?"

"Single dad," I confessed, a solemn smile curling my lips at the confession. "I've raised my son by myself. His mom and I split when she was still pregnant. I actually had no idea at the time."

"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Faustus quickly apologised, shame making his expression turn grim. "It was wrong of me to assume you were married just because you have a kid. I mean, you were involved with Elizabeth Midford, after all. I guess I wasn't thinking."

"It's not a problem. Oh, and I didn't mean to go silent on our first conversation; I think having a promise ring for that purpose is pretty honorable these days. She's one lucky girl."

Faustus smiled, though for some reason it looked sad. "Yeah, they're a great person."

A draft made small strands of my hair sway, and both of us turned to look as the entrance swung open, a group of officers filing in. As soon as they saw me, their expressions turned cold, but they nodded to the lieutenant as they passed by.

"We probably should've waited in my office," Faustus breathed as he stood to his feet. "Seems like they woke up on the wrong side of their beds."

"You're associating with a possible kidnapper," I said flatly, my darkened eyes glaring down at the empty coffee cup in front of me. "I can see why they'd be upset."

Lieutenant Faustus gave me a brief sympathetic glance before he patted my back roughly in reassurance. "Innocent until proven guilty. Let's get ready for questioning."

I nodded, standing up to follow the officer. He allowed me to get a quick refill of coffee, the simple action seeming to piss off the other policemen, before he led me back to the same interrogation room I had gotten to know the day before.

For once in my life, I wished I was rather filing reports.


	10. Concerned Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the latest chapter. Hope you all enjoy. I'm gonna go fuck my girlfriend now. Ritz out.

My feet were slowly carrying me down the hallway, padding softly across the wooden expanse. I don't remember how I had gotten there, knowing only that I needed to go to my father's room. It was still deeply night, and I was exhausted, but some unknown thing was pulling me closer to him. An invisible string attached to my chest kept me moving farther and farther from the comforts of my bed, and along with it the growing desire to be cradled in his arms and breathing in his scent. The hall seemed longer than normal, so much longer, and it felt like someone had put it through photoshop, stretching it and expanding it and blowing it up until it was completely out of proportion. I felt dwarfed by the height of the warped walls, which curved inward, leading me nearer to his door. Desperation to reach him made me widen my stride and move faster, trying to conquer the distance between us.

I walked past the attic, the normally thin rope engorged and pulsating with life. It snaked out, brushing against the skin of my arm before attempting to curl around my wrist. It constricted and I yanked my hand away, jumping back from the attic as the stairs dropped down suddenly with a deafening, thunderous crack. I flicked my eyes up, staring into the impenetrable blackness. I swallowed hard; for some reason, I was inexplicably afraid of what was up there. I could feel my terror rising, and the sound of a door slowly creaking open made me jump out of my skin. I tore my gaze from the pitch black hole in the ceiling, ignoring that it almost seemed liquidous, dripping down onto the stairs and oozing from the attic like it was a gaping wound. I turned my eyes to my father's bedroom, seeing that his door was partly ajar. I put the attic and whatever lay inside out of my mind, instead walking towards the entrance with a purpose. A sticky warmth beneath my foot took me off guard, sending my appendage sliding backwards and my body hurling forwards.

Unable to stop myself from crashing to the floor, I threw my arms up in front of my face, instinctually trying to protect it as I cried out in shock, and my entire front slammed into the ground with a sickly squishing sound filling my ears. I nearly gagged, but the wind was knocked out of me, and as I soundlessly gasped, trying to get my air back, I opened my eyes and pushed myself up onto my elbows, looking down at the large puddle I hadn't noticed before. It looked almost black in the darkness, and I felt confusion twist my features. Had someone spilt paint and forgotten to clean it? Whatever it was, it was all over me, and that annoyed me to no end. I had just taken a shower not that long ago.

Carefully, I pulled myself up to my feet, my legs shaking slightly as I tried to retain my balance. My hands smudged dark prints onto the wall as I used it to support myself, my body wobbling and threatening to topple over at any moment. I cautiously walked forward and tried not to fall again; I was surprised that my father hadn't woken with how loudly I made impact with the floor just outside of his room.

"Daddy?" I called softly, rounding the doorjamb and stepping into his room. "Daddy, can I sleep with..." I trailed off as I raised my eyes. Shock punched me in the stomach, and I nearly doubled over. Panic seized my heart and my brain refused to take in the scene before my very eyes. "No, oh no. No, no, no. Daddy..." My voice was weak, sounding strangled as my throat tightened up with anxiety.

There was blood everywhere.

The entire room was splashed with an impossible amount of blood, as if someone had thrown buckets of deep red all over the walls and floor. The ceiling was spattered with it, and it dripped down, hitting my cheek and trailing down it like a tear. It hadn't been paint that I had slipped in. I was soaked to the bone in warm, sticky, suffocating blood. My stomach tightened and wrenched painfully like I was going to vomit, and my eyes widened even more as I quaked and trembled in fear. The metallic scent was overpowering, it was everywhere and-Oh, _god._ I could see a foot, peeking out from next to the bed, near the wall farthest from me. Against my will, I took a hesitant step forward, slowly walking towards the foot. I was getting closer and closer, helpless as I struggled against my own body.

" _Daddy_ ," I mouthed, unable to find my voice. It was like it had dried up, my throat closing up and forming a huge lump that I could scarcely breathe past. I shook my head wildly as my feet continued to carry me closer, ever closer...

I didn't want to look. I don't want to. _I don't want to I don't want to Idon'twanttoIdon'twantto I DON'T WANT TO I DON'T-!_

But it was too late. His body lay sprawled out, spread eagle and completely nude upon the floor. It was horribly mutilated, large gashes running along his muscles and chunks of flesh ripped out. He was coated in blood, and it still seemed to be spilling from him. He couldn't have that much blood. He couldn't. My eyes flicked up to his shoulders and neck, to the spot where his head should be. I felt dizzy, my vision blurring and my skin getting hot. I was short of breath, gasping rapidly as I backed up as fast as my feet would allow. I slipped again, my feet flying out from beneath me, and I landed heavily on my back.

The floor was warm and sticky. I was laying in his blood. I was laying in _my father's_ blood. _Oh fuck, oh no, god._ I scrambled to my feet, twisting my body sharply to face the exist. I ran, fleeing the sickening scene as fast as I could. I only made it as far as the attic, before an odd sound came from above me, making me freeze in my tracks. I looked up. _A mistake_ , I realised too late.

Soft thuds echoed through the warped hallway as something rolled slowly down the steps, hitting my toes as it came to a stop. I swallowed hard, steeling myself before looking down. My father's sanguine eyes stared up at me, sheer terror frozen on his face. His dead orbs stared at me accusingly. I swallowed hard.

 _"Ciel,"_ I heard someone call from above with a laugh in their voice, and my blood ran cold.

I could no longer stay on my feet. My legs turned to jelly and gave way beneath me, and I crumbled to the floor. I was once again a little boy, trembling in fear. I pulled my legs up to my chest, my eyes widening as tears pooled in them, and my chest heaved with hyperventilation. I shrank back as far as I could, watching that ebony hole wavering and moving like it was made up of a mass of spiders all writhing, trying to escape. I could _never_ forget that voice.

A pristine white high heel came into view, followed by a slender leg. She stepped down onto the step, the void seemingly spitting her out from nothingness. I felt true horror, unable to look away as she slowly came into view. As she stepped down onto the last step, I finally looked up to her face. It was impossibly disfigured, her skull smashed and caved in, with one of her eyes crushed beyond recognition in its socket. Her wounds were saturated in old, dark, sickly brown blood, the clots visible even from this distance. Her once flaxen hair was stained, matted down and sticking to her throat.

Rachel's broken face twisted into a mimicry of a smile, and I felt warmth pool between my legs as I relieved myself in fear with a whimper.

"Ciel baby, Mommy has missed you so much," she cooed, her voice raspy and wheezing as if her windpipe was crushed and straining. "You've been a very naughty boy." Her gaze seemed to move to my father's head, her warped smile only growing. She walked closer to me, and I flinched back as she leaned down and scooped it up into her arms, cradling it against her bare chest.

"You're not real," I whispered brokenly, my eyes leaking tears as I stared at her in horror. "You're dead."

Her laughter was strangled and cruel, her mangled head tossing backward with deep amusement. "Ciel you foolish boy. You always were a fucking idiot. Did you really think I would leave without my beloved?" She lifted up his head, and brought it close to her face for her split, swollen, and blackened lips to press against his. Her voice lowered with a deep rage. "You dared to try and take him from me, you worthless piece of shit. It's your fault he left me; you don't deserve him. He will always love me, and only me."

I covered my ears with trembling hands, my head shaking back and forth slowly as I watched her in fear and disgust. My cheeks were damp with the constant flow of tears, and I whimpered. I felt as though I were three again, unable to defend myself and at her mercy.

"Why won't you die already?" she asked coldly. " _Why won't you fucking die?! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO KILL YOU!"_

"Mom please! Why did you kill Daddy?" I sobbed, almost wishing that she would kill me too. She took him away before I could have him, and I still wanted to be with him. He was mine, he loved me.

She cackled like a madman, her entire body convulsing with her laughter. "I didn't kill him, Ciel. _You did."_

I looked down at my hands when she said that, seeing all the blood that coated them, and I realised that I was holding a knife. A constant and agonizing shrill buzzing filled my ears, making my skull feel like it was full of bees. I thought my head would explode from the pain, and the insects would come bursting forth after devouring my brain.

"NO!" I screamed, the sound ripping itself from my throat as I sat up in bed.

I was gasping for air, my skin drenched in sweat and completely soaking my father's shirt through. It clung to me like a disgusting second skin, and the sheets tangled around my limbs made me feel claustrophobic. I had just had a nightmare. I hadn't had a nightmare in years, since I was a young child, and dreaded the day that Rachel would come for me, to take me away from my Daddy. I _didn't_ have nightmares anymore, because I was strong, and I could take care of myself. No one could hurt me anymore. So why?

I suddenly recalled the feeling of warmth pooling between my thighs in my dream, and with dread, I swallowed hard before ripping back the blankets to expose my legs. I released a sigh of relief, completely thankful that I hadn't actually pissed myself. I could still hear shrill buzzing, and once I calmed down I was confused as to why. I turned my head to look at my alarm clock, and I felt my stomach drop as I realised that my alarm was going off. The red numbers read _7:30 am_ , and I groaned as panic set in once again. I had accidentally slept through my alarm and was going to be late to school.

I slammed my fist down on the button, silencing the infernal noise. "Shit."

* * *

There was no way that I could have bypassed taking a shower, it was just an impossibility for me. I had been soaked to the bone with sweat, the disgusting fluid gluing my fringe to my face and dripping down from drenched strands. I had no hopes of making it to the bus in time anyway, as I could hardly get ready and run down to the stop within five minutes. I took the quickest shower that I could manage, leaving me free of sweat yet still possessing an unclean feeling. My skin crawled with thousands of imaginary spiders, my OCD flaring up in a demand to jump back in and scrub myself free of the thousands of legs making my flesh itch. I ignored it, not easily, but pushed those thoughts out nonetheless. I hadn't any time to waste. The last thing I needed was for the receptionist in the office to grow a brain and call my father at work to alert him of any absences and tardies, giving him suspicions about me. I dressed in a hurry, not putting any thought whatsoever into my attire or if it matched. I snagged my backpack and ran outside.

I rode my bike to school, my brain consumed with thoughts of my weekend and my father. I ran over every single detail meticulously, searching for a single flaw, one small mistake that could spell disaster for everything that I was working so hard towards. I had cleaned vigorously, though I would double-check when I got home to make sure that the attic was flawless. It was a good thing I'd cleaned it before my father had went in to get his suitcase, otherwise the sudden immaculate cleanliness would have been suspicious should he decide to venture in once more.

Halting my thought process only long enough to chain up my bike and work myself up into a fit of tears, I widened my eyes before running into the school and into the main office. The red-headed idiot caught sight of me, shock and sympathy painted on her face as blatantly as her crimson lips.

"Miss Durless," I whined pitifully, letting a few tears slip down my cheeks. Her hand rested over her heart, already snared in my trap. Women were so easy to manipulate.

"C-Ciel, whatever is the matter?" She asked, rising to her feet and leaning over her desk, her red bangs shifting as she cocked her head to the side in concern. Her ruby-painted lips turned down into a worried frown, and I very nearly rolled my eyes.

"I missed the bus, and I had to ride my bike all the way here. He just drove off without me..." I sniffled, twisting my expression into one of sadness. "Please don't mark me tardy, Miss Durless, I promise it won't happen again."

"Sweet boy," she cooed, circling around her desk to stop in front of me. She crouched to be more my height, a fact that irritated to no end. Her sympathetically smiling face was directly across from mine, and she brought up a hand to muss my hair. Filthy, absolutely disgusting. Why did vile women always insist upon touching me? I nearly cringed, suppressing the urge to jerk back. I held very still, fighting the revulsion that threatened to flicker over my face. "It'll be our little secret, okay?" Durless winked at me as she rose back to her feet and grasped a slip of paper from my first class. She used white-out to get rid of the mark in the absent slot by my name, before drawing an x in the present box.

I beamed at her, clutching her hand tightly and making my skin want to peel off of me, my voice as sweet and innocent as possible as I could manage. "I wish I had a mom like you Miss Durless." I watched the tears well in her eyes before I turned and walked away. It wasn't a well-known fact, but she was, in fact, infertile, and I knew that playing on her motherly instincts would work in my favor. She could treat me like the son she could never have, and I could deal with a few revolting touches here and there, so long as I got everything I desired in the end.

Women were too easy, the sickening creatures.

Consumed in my thoughts once more, I hardly paid attention to any of my classes. If you had asked me what I had done at school or had for lunch, I wouldn't be able to give you an answer. By the end of the day, my mind was calm. I had gone over everything, breaking it apart and piecing it back together in my head, and I knew that I left nothing. There was no evidence left behind that would implicate me at all; she would forever just be a missing person with no hints of foul play.

Still, as safe as I was, I needed to lie low for a while; I had been too active recently, and if I dared to take someone personal to me out again, I was sure the police would begin to connect dots. They did have at least one person with some semblance of intelligence, after all. I thought momentarily about Claude Faustus; if I wasn't careful, the man could become a worthy adversary.

The rest of the day passed in much of a blur. As soon as I made it home I was in the shower, washing away all of the disgusting spiders and clammy touches of that woman. The only thing I was truly aware of was the hunger. It ripped through me, and when dinner came around, I ate like a man starving for months. I'm sure I surprised my father with how much and how fast I consumed the food that he made, not even offering up a single complaint. I ate everything in sight, and by the time I was done, my stomach was mercifully silent. Exhaustion was creeping its way in, but I kept it off of my face as my father helped me with my homework. I barely paid any attention, unsure of what subjects we were even working on.

I would worry about going over everything tomorrow to make sure it was all perfect. For now, my bed was calling my name. I crawled under the sheets. Sleep was welcome and, thankfully, nightmare free.

* * *

Worry. As I stared down blankly at the upside down pages of the book in my hands, not absorbing any shred of information, I was consumed with worry. I flicked my eyes down to my phone screen, checking the time once more, even though it had only been a minute or so since I last looked. The seconds felt like years, dragging by agonizingly slowly, making my lungs feel like it was hard to breathe. I'd tried distracting myself by reading, though it had obviously not done any good. _It's rather hard to read a book upside down,_ I grumbled to myself, annoyed that I hadn't even bothered to flip it over yet. Pretending to read was the farthest thing from my mind, yet I couldn't seem to unclench my fingers from around the old pages. My grip had wrinkled them, but I really didn't give a flying fuck.

Today had gone normally enough; school was boring as per usual, barely holding my attention as I tried to give some semblance of attentiveness rather than the blatant disregard I held towards the instructors. It had seemed much harder to do today than it was normally, as I was purposefully trying harder to lie low than I had been doing before. There really was no need, I was hardly on anyone's radar anyway, especially now that Maurice was gone. The football players really were a bunch of sheep, and with their leader dead, they'd left me alone entirely, barely sparing me a glance. I liked it that way just fine. I had assumed that it was just a normal day, as any other was, and yet.

_Where was he?_

My father was late, and that was _not normal._ Five minutes, ten, hell even _20_ , and I wouldn't have worried in the least. Traffic was unpredictable, and it could be hell in the evenings around the insurance building, as it was centered closer to the city. But he was much too late for that. I could feel my body tensing up, winding tighter and tighter as the minutes passed, and I was certain the anxiety would snap me in half before too long had passed. Flashes of the other night's nightmare danced across my vision, quickly being banished from my mind.

I was so consumed in worry that I didn't hear the car pull up into the drive, but the soft _click_ of the front door shutting rips me from my thoughts, and I jerk my gaze up from the book. I slam it shut and jump to my feet, leaving behind my perch on the couch as my brows furrow, allowing the worry to show on my face. I let my bottom lip jut out in what I know is an adorable pout. "Daddy where have you been? I was worried." I dart over to him as fast as possible, not allowing him any chance for escape, before flinging my arms around his waist in a tight hug. "You didn't call me."

"Shit. I did forget." He sighs, dropping his hand down to ruffle my hair. Well, that was not what I wanted to hear. He _forgot_ about me? "I'm sorry, Ciel. It slipped my mind. Bard wanted to play some ball after work and I forgot to let you know that I'd be home late."

I draw my head back, keeping my arms around him, so that I can study his facial expression. Something seems... _off_ about him. His words are innocent enough, but just basketball wouldn't account for the sallowness to his pale skin, or the weary look in his eyes. He could be sick, but that really didn't appear to be the case, otherwise I'm sure he would have mentioned it. I cock my head to the side, unable to put my finger on just what it is yet, so I form words slowly, trying not to let on my suspicions. As far as I can tell, meeting Bard was not a lie. "Well... it's okay... If Bard needed you, Daddy, then I forgive you."

His lips turn up into a smile, his fingers messing my hair up even further, before stepping away from me and into the house. He uses the same hand to rake through his own tresses, and with the way his hair is disheveled more so than normally, I could tell that he had been doing it constantly today. "So what sounds good for dinner?"

My father's arrival home had done nothing to relieve my worry - if anything, it had made it much worse. I can feel my brow creeping up my forehead as I stare at his back, the suspicion tickling at the back of my mind like a song that I can't seem to get out of my head, but I release an inaudible sigh. Whatever was the matter, he wasn't keen on talking about it, I was certain of that.

I hummed like I was thinking it over, the answer already on my tongue. "Anything with potatoes." Trailing after him, I try to keep my tone as nonchalant as possible, trying to prod for information in a way that wouldn't be obvious. Perhaps, if I played my cards right, he would slip up and give me something, anything, that I could use to figure out just what was plaguing him. "How was work?" I ask softly, toying with the dog-eared pages of the weathered book still in my hands.

"About as good as filing reports get," he chuckles, his feet carrying him over to the stairs. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable before I start on dinner. Maybe we'll have stir fry."

I frown to myself, not liking the answer I'm given, but not finding any weak points in it that I can take advantage of. Letting go of my suspicions for the moment, I flash a smile at my father. "Stir fry sounds good, Daddy."

I watch him as he walks up the stairs, standing there unmoving, scarcely even breathing all the while. I stood there even after hearing his door click shut, my mind moving a mile a minute. Perhaps he had just had a shitty client, one who had bitten his head off. Or maybe his boss had unjustly scolded him - I'd heard conversations about the man between my father and Bard; they made him sound like a tyrant. Whatever it was, it was _something._ I turned away from the staircase and began walking back towards the couch, hardly paying attention to where my feet were moving as I stared blankly down in thought.

"Ciel, have you been doing the laundry? My t-shirts are almost all gone," I heard my father call from the bottom of the stairs, snapping me out of my thoughts and making my blood run cold.

I freeze in my tracks, cheeks flushing as I recall where exactly all his shirts have ended up - my closet. I keep my face carefully pointed away from him to keep my expression hidden, my fingers digging into my book, squeezing the life out of it. _Lie, don't let him know. Not yet. He's not ready._ "It must have slipped my mind. I'll do some before I go to bed." I quickly school my face, morphing it to convey shame and embarrassment, in case he looks at me. "Sorry for forgetting."

I can't see him, but I can hear the disbelief and disapproval in his voice when he speaks. "The laundry chute was empty this morning." _Shit,_ I thought. _Who checked those anyway?_ My body tenses up, hair raising on the back of my neck as he gets closer. I nearly flinch when his hands come up to rest on my shoulders, and he squeezes them so sweetly I want to melt. "Have you been wearing them? Did you hit a late growth spurt?"

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to shove away the thrill of his touch, my eyes lighting up with victory. He had given me the perfect out. Nodding my head, I let my voice soften, becoming repentful. "I-I think so. My clothes are getting a little too tight, and your shirts were just more comfortable. I'm sorry for lying, Daddy, I didn't want you to be mad at me." I lift my chin and tilt my head back to look at him, widening my eyes to the likeness of saucers, my expression pleading.

I watch the soft smile spread on his lips, making me feel warm inside, and his hands fall from my shoulder as he pats my back gently. "I figured as much. We'll go shopping this weekend to find you some better fitting clothes. After all, isn't homecoming approaching? You are planning on going, aren't you?"

A happy grin lights up my face, and I spin around to face him. "A shopping trip sounds like fun," I announce, but dread curls in my stomach at the idea of the upcoming dance. No way in _hell._ I keep the repulsion out of my expression easily, keeping my tone bubbly. "I was thinking about it, but I don't know if I'll be able to. I don't have anyone to go with." I was hoping he'd let me off the hook with that excuse; it wasn't as though I wouldn't be able to find a date if I wanted to. I was rather attractive, if I do say so myself, and I could certainly turn on the charm. But I absolutely loathed dancing, _and_ females. No thank you.

"I'm sure you could find a date easily," he says with a smile, and I inwardly cringe. _Blast_. He moves to the fridge, pulling it open and digging through. "Plus your old man will be disappointed if he doesn't get to embarrass you by making you take pictures." A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest as he starts setting ingredients on the counter. _Double blast._

I stifle a groan, wishing that he hadn't been aware at all of when homecoming was. Most father's didn't, but leave it to mine to know about every school event that took place. I steel my resolve as I plop down at the kitchen table, forcing a smile onto my face. "I'll hurry up and find a date then, Daddy." Anything for him, even if I dreaded it.

"I look forward to it. Oh, and are your classes going well, I'm assuming I'll have to go to a parent teacher meeting soon and I'd like to hear good news," my father states, turning to look at me expectantly.

And then everything clicks into place as I meet his eyes. _This sly..._ He was trying to distract me, and he was doing a damn good job of it, not even giving me the chance to ask questions. If I had been suspicious before, this brought it up to an alarming amount. He was covering something up, trying to keep me from discovering that there was something wrong with him.

I kept my expression carefully schooled; if he did not want me to become suspicious, then it would be in my best interest to act as though I think nothing is out of order. I gave him the brightest, most child-like smile I could manage, my eyes wide and glittering like jewels. "Oh, of course, Daddy. My grades are very good, especially thanks to your help with my homework. All of my teachers like me."

"Oh, good. Then I'll help you with it after we finish dinner."

The finality of our conversation ending lingered in the air between us, and I left him to cook as I began ruminating on my thoughts. The night flew by in a blur, and I hardly paid attention to my food or even my father helping me with homework. I tried to seem as attentive as possible, but where normally my heart would flutter and pound at his close proximity to me, I hadn't felt the slightest stirring from it. Once we had finished the packet, he fled my room in a seemingly better mood than he had been in when he got home. As soon as the door clicked shut, my cheery, youthful facade shattered, leaving my expression gloomy and brooding. My brows drew together and my eyes darkened as I brought my hand up to my face, my index finger and thumb cupping my chin. I was finally able to fully focus on my thoughts.

There was obviously something bothering my father, that much was clear. Any moron would be able to deduce that his mind was occupied. Had something happened at work, then? If that was the case, then he wouldn't be able to hide it that well; his dejection always showed in his expression when something occurred with his boss. He tended to look older, then, with his brow creased and wrinkles from worry creasing the corners of his lips, his smile never quite reaching his stormy eyes. It couldn't possibly be something worse than whatever his boss inflicted, could it? I was certain that it would be very apparent in his face and movements. Perhaps he was still just upset over the blonde slut, though I couldn't see why that would be when he has me.

I stared up at the ceiling, unsure of how I had even made it to bed, I was so lost in thought. Whatever it was, it must not be that bad, or of importance, I finally decided. My father always made it a habit to never outright lie to me; sure, he twisted the truth sometimes, or left out things he deemed unnecessary for someone my age to know, but he never truly lied. Everything he told me always had the essence of truth to it, even if it was stated in a way that left out important details. So, he had really been with Bard, I was positive. It was possible that they had had a fight and needed to sort it out; it certainly made sense why he would be too stressed to remember to call me. They were best friends and rarely got into arguments, as well as they had an easy time resolving them, but I'd say they were about due for one. With that settled, I promptly put it out of my mind. I rolled onto my side and burrowed deeper into my nest of blankets, closing my eyes as I released a small sigh. Their tiffs were no concern of mine. They could handle it on their own, they were perfectly capable adults.

Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to occur for the rest of the week; his behavior was rather normal, so I just naturally assumed that things had been sorted out with Bard. Everything was returning to as it should be; just me and my father, together, exactly where we belonged. Nothing, and no one, was going to destroy that.

* * *

I would really quite like to say that my plans to lie low were going exactly as I had desired them to; that I would be able to go at least a month without further sullying my hands with blood. I truly wished that was how it worked out, but sadly, I barely made it 7 days before my intentions came crashing to a brutal halt. Right after my father had left to go hang out with Bard, Undertaker showed up at my door, not even bothering to disguise himself. It was still daylight, and here he stood, in all of his eccentric, eye-catching glory. I felt my eyes widen with anger at his sudden appearance. Leave it to this asshole to come and shatter my attempts at being peaceful.

I gripped tightly onto his arm, enough to leave clear, slim bruises of the tips of my fingers on his skin, and yanked him into my house with a snarl. "Why the fuck are you here?" I demanded after I slammed the front door, positively seething as he chuckled in amusement. "You do realise how much attention you draw looking like _that,"_ I huffed, gesturing angrily at his appearance. "Don't make things harder on me; the last thing I need is for my father to hear through my neighbors that I'm letting _deviants who look like child molesters_ into my house when he's out."

Undertaker clutched at his heart and stumbled back, acting as though I had shot him point blank with a shotgun. "Why, little lord, you _wound_ me." His ever-present smile curled his lips, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to punch him to be rid of it for once, or for his piss-poor attempt at feigning hurt. "My interests only lie in the cold embrace of a corpse."

My upper lip curled up into a sneer, baring my teeth as my nose wrinkled in absolute disgust. I raised my head, my arms crossing tightly over my chest as I looked down my nose at him, seeing myself as far above scum like him. "What you do with your beloved cadavers on your own time is none of my business. Please don't taint my ears with your sickening statements." I snapped my head to the side, no longer finding him worth my time. His annoying chuckles grated on my nerves, and I sighed in abhorrence and annoyance. "We both know you've got a reason for being here. Out with it," I commanded, resigning myself to having to deal with whatever it is he required of me.

"I have a meeting that I'd like you to join me on," Undertaker drawled in his sing-song tone, the amusement in his voice never fading. I wondered if he had ever been normal or serious in his life, but decided I really didn't care. I waved my hand in the air as a gesture for him to continue. "We'll consider it a test of sorts, so your dear instructor can assess where you're at." With that, he burst into the cackling of a madman, clutching at his sides.

My face twisted into an irritated expression, though my brow lifted in interest, head cocked to the side. "I don't feel like it. I've school tomorrow. I refuse to run around as your little errand dog. You can leave." Really, I was delaying the inevitable; I knew that I would have no choice in the matter, and that I would have to go with him willingly in the end, but I wanted to give him a hard time. I wanted to lie low, god damnit. This bastard always had a way of ruining my plans.

I turned fully away from him and marched over to the door, gripping the handle and getting ready to wrench it open to point him out. The next thing I knew, my back was slamming painfully into the door, the knob digging into my spine harshly enough to send a sharp pain shooting up my back. One of his hands clutched my jaw tightly, his nails pressing into the soft flesh of my cheeks, and he forced me to look up at him. My expression was twisted with pain, one of my eyes clenched mostly closed from discomfort, and I nearly vomited from the intense repulsion slamming into me in waves. I felt his body press into mine, and he curled his upper half over me, completely sandwiching me between him and the door. His cheshire grin remained plastered on his lips and appearing much more forced than it ever had. The slightest hint of insanity and a deep-rooted rage glazed over his eyes, making that odd chartreuse too shiny and bright.

"You owe me, little lord, if you'll recall. You even told me so yourself. If you want to go back on your word, then you won't mind surrendering _this_ pretty little thing to me, would you?" The long, black nail of his index finger hovered barely a centimeter from my pupil, so close I could almost feel it touching. If I even so much as blinked, that talon-like nail would scratch across my cornea unforgivingly, perhaps blinding me. His voice was so icy it chilled even me, who feared nothing, to the bone. My skin tightened and crawled from being touched by him. My fingers twitched with the urge to claw and scratch at myself until I bled, the itching sensation was much too intense. I stilled myself as much as possible, allowing my steady hand to rise up between us and grasp onto his bony wrist, easing that nail back from my iris. Keeping the fear out of my eyes, I let my face fall into the most annoyed expression I could manage, my frown deepening.

"Can't take a joke? I didn't realise you were so sensitive, seeing as how you're always jesting." I tossed his arm away from me, fully aware that it wouldn't have budged if he didn't want it to. I would have to tread more carefully, it would seem. Undertaker certainly had many faces that even I didn't know.

"Kekeke, what, don't like being held?" He sniggered, immediately releasing me.

I stood up from the door, dusting myself off, giving him a loathsome look. "Not by men as cold as the bodies they love so much."

* * *

The sun was slowly setting, just beginning to kiss the horizon and bathing everything in the soft hues of pink and orange. Undertaker had taken the precaution of parking a few blocks away from his target's home, and now was walking calmly at my side. His stride was slower than mine, and I cursed his stupid long legs as I took twice the amount of steps he did just to keep up. His long grey hair is hanging down his front in a messy braid, something I forced on him before we left my house so that he would have some semblance of a decent appearance and attract less attention. An impossible feat when he was dressed as himself. His lips are still curled into his stupid smile, his face turned towards the setting sun, seeming to bask in the faint warmth its providing. I glower down at my feet, frown marring my lips as I feel his hand come to rest softly on my shoulder, those ebony claws biting into my flesh. I suppress a shudder as he guides me onto the crosswalk, and I glare at the receding sidewalk as it flees beneath my feet. I don't want to be here. I'd rather be anywhere else than in this loathsome man's company. I swatted his hand away, turning my hateful stare up to Undertaker's face once he starts to cackle.

I grumble under my breath, wanting to cross my arms like a petulant child but forcing them to keep hanging loosely at my sides. "Can we just get this over with already? I didn't come with you just to take a goddamn evening stroll."

"You can go on a date with me but you can't take a walk with me? How cold." His words came out in that suppressed laughter way of his, very clearly amused as he focuses on me. I know he wants a reaction, and as much as I don't want to give the bastard the satisfaction, I can't seem to help myself. He just knows exactly which buttons to push, and for how long until I become a writhing ball of murderous fury.

"Fuck you, you rotten bastard," I snarl, unable to stop myself from crossing my arms over my chest this time. We're too focused on each other to pay much mind to the clacking of heels on pavement. "It _wasn't_ a date, for the last time." Huffing in irritation, I scowl deeply, but the sound of bags hitting the ground draws my attention, making me temporarily forget my anger.

Both of us turn from each other and lift our heads in the direction of the noise, which had come from the other side of the crosswalk. A woman stands in the middle of the street, sunglasses hiding her eyes from sight, her grey hair pulled up into a mussed bun, and what can only be classified as a seductive smile curls her lips. I glance downwards, feeling my brows shoot up in shock; she has to be the curviest woman that I've ever seen. Her tits were probably the size of my head, each, and I wished I could say that I was exaggerating. Her lacy black bra peeks out from beneath her white blouse, which is transparent enough that you can see the damn thing hugging onto her plentiful mounds. The flesh pushes up into the most dangerous looking cleavage; a man could fall into it and never surface again. A skirt that has to be the tightest piece of clothing to exist hugs her perfectly, leaving nothing to the imagination, and it even bunched up from her walking, exposing a nearly lewd amount of her thighs. I finally drop my eyes to the ground, spotting her extremely high-heeled feet standing in the wake of what looks like some sort of shopping bag massacre. Countless fancy paper bags litter the crosswalk, a few of their contents spilling out like the guts of a fallen soldier.

Undertaker's hand coming to rest on my hip and yanking me to a stop in the road is enough to draw my attention back to him. I wish this dreadful man wasn't so fucking handsy with me. I flick my gaze over to his face, witnessing the widening of his smile to nearly impossible measures. His tone is entirely sing-song when he speaks up.

"Anna."

I can feel my expression twisting into a confused mask, my mouth opening as I get ready to begin questioning him on how he knows this walking playboy magazine.

" _Hannah,_ " she interrupts smoothly, and I swear that I can feel her eyes on me, but by the time I turn back to look at her she's once again focused on Undertaker. "You never could get my name right." As this Hannah/Anna woman clears her throat, she pulls her sunglasses down until they rest on the very tip of her nose, finally exposing her eyes, which are some shade of blue that I can't say I'm familiar with. "How have you been, dear brother?" She smirks, her voice a sultry purr.

 _Brother?_ Well that was completely unexpected. True, they did both have that same grey hair, for being so young looking, but that hardly would make someone think they were related. She was so very... so many words came to mind. _Normal, sexualized, a straight man's wet dream,_ take your pick. And Undertaker wasn't any of those things; he was the kind of man that people subconsciously avoided, never daring to make eye contact and rushing their children farther away from him.

His mad laughter barking out suddenly made me start, my eyes widening as I whip my head in his direction. He's laughing harder than I've ever seen him, his hand pressing into his stomach as if it can somehow suppress his mirth. Undertaker manages to get himself under whatever semblance of control he has, his grin still cracking his face in half. "I've been rather well." A pause as I assume he gives Hustler a once-over. "You look quite well yourself."

I find that I rather dislike the way _Hannah_ looks at me, like she had spotted a cockroach scuttling over the toe of her shoe. Her entire attitude told me that she only saw me as a child, one who wasn't worth the time of day. I can feel my face twisting into unpleasantness as my shock fades from me, my arms crossing tightly over my chest. All women are repulsive creatures, this one more so than others. "I didn't know you had a sister, but..." I trail off, flicking my eyes up and down her, before locking onto her face and scrutinizing every detail. My lips curl into a cruel smirk, though the rest of my features remain angelic. "I can see the resemblance in her rather masculine jawline."

She quits her longing, indecent staring at Undertaker when I speak, her posture getting a little stiff and her smile becoming more faux as she has to work to keep it on her face. Victory flashes in my eyes momentarily, though her next words send a bolt of lightning through me, freezing me to my spot. "Seal, isn't it? I work with your Daddy." Hannah's smile relaxes, gaining back its genuine feel while the tip of her heel grinds into the ground. _Oh this simpering fucking cunt, how dare she. Did I look like a goddamn animal to this insipid bitch?_   "He's quite the charming man, getting all dressed up like he does. His cologne smells divine as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about having him between my legs."

Undertaker's boisterous laughter registers in the back of my head, though I ignore the wheezing chuckles as hate wells up within me. This disgusting slut. How dare she speak of my father that way, like she would ever stand a chance. Her very existence pissed me off, and I found myself contemplating all the ways that I could end her for her insolent way of speaking. My eyes narrow as I glare at her with every bit of rage I feel, though my lips quirk into a naturally sweet, innocent little boy smile. As much as I loathed to play nice with this fat ass slut, I had to tread carefully so that she would keep her whore mouth shut around my father. I knew he would never believe a word from someone else over my own, but I still couldn't have those seeds of doubt planted in his head.

"You work with Daddy? I didn't know, he's never mentioned you," I say pleasantly enough, though there is an underlying edge to my voice. My polite words conceal my true meaning. _You aren't important enough to even be on my father's radar, you will never be anywhere near my level, so step the fuck back, you bitch._ Unable to help myself, I glance at her shirt, my tone saccharine and lilting as I offer another veiled insult. "Are you sure you work at an insurance company? Your shirt looks thinner than tissue paper."

"Then I must be wearing it right," Hannah responds with a throaty chuckle that some might consider sexy. She doesn't even seem fazed by my words, which irritates me to no end. Her hand comes up to run through my hair, and I nearly gag from the unwanted physical touch. As if that wasn't disgusting enough, she drops her slender fingers to my jaw, cupping it and biting into my cheeks with her talons. Another trait she seems to share with Undertaker. She forces my head up, giving me no choice but to look up into her eyes. "Nevermind the way I dress, little boy. I know things about your Daddy that I'm sure you don't know yet."

Hustler releases me as she steps over to her _brother_ , unabashedly stroking his chest. Her expression is reminiscent of a cat in heat. God or whatever may be out there, give me the strength not to brutally stab this twat for continually calling him Daddy. That's what _only I_ can call him. Pushing my rage aside, I consider her words. Something I don't know. My mind flashes back to last week, to the day he came home fatigued and kept me distracted.

"You don't have to keep playing pretend, she knows everything about me," Undertaker says, drawing me out of my thoughts. He's finally seemed to get his manic chortling under control, and has straightened himself back out to his full height. I watch his lips quirk into an approving smirk, directed at little miss cunt. She practically melts from the positive attention, causing my stomach to twist in disgust. Nothing is more vile than craving intimacy with your brother.

I let my innocent mask fall away, trying to maintain whatever politeness I can pull together, even though shock and anger courses through me as I realise that this stranger knows about me. Flicking my eyes up to Undertaker's face, I open my mouth to scold him for daring to tell a single soul about the side I keep hidden from society.

"Now, now. My pet would never betray me. Would you?" He cuts me off before I can start, his tone mockingly soothing. His attentions stays on her, his hand coming to rest lightly on her hip.

 _Manipulative bastard,_ I think as I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's been too long," she murmurs, kissing his neck and leaving a perfect purple impression of her lips. Hannah's attention falls onto me, though she continues to openly grope Undertaker. He says something in return to her, but I'm no longer listening to his idiotic babble. _Don't vomit,_ I remind myself as her hand squeezes his thigh. "I'm not your enemy, Ciel. I want nothing to do with Sebastian and his awkward personality. But I do know that your father is in trouble."

I swallow hard, my eyes widening as the PDA is pushed far from my thoughts, worry beginning to take over. "What do you mean, 'in trouble'?" I question, shifting from foot to foot in an almost anxious manner, my brows creasing.

"Do tell, pet," Undertaker purrs, drawing Hannah's adoring eyes back to him.

Her voice gets soft as she focuses solely on him. "He was taken in by the police for questioning. I'm assuming it's your doing." She completely loses interest in the conversation, consumed in her brother as she begins molding herself to him. "I'd like to believe we have some catching up to do."

All that registers within me is shock, the intense feeling punching me in the gut. I feel bile rise in my throat, tasting it on the back of my tongue. The blood rushes from my face, going still and silent as I wait in dread for her to tell me this is all some twisted joke. _The punchline that will never come_ , I muse inwardly. How. How could this have happened? No one should have suspected him or me. There is no evidence, none at all that suggests he could be tied to her disappearance. There's no hint of foul-play, nothing.

Unless he did something that would throw a wrench into my plans. Something that would draw the investigative forces attention onto him. Did he go to her house? Call her? _Think rationally, Ciel,_ I scolded myself, drawing a deep breath. I reached over without thinking and clutched onto Undertaker's sleeve, giving it a tug.

When I speak, my voice is dangerously low and calm. "We need to go. Let's get this over and done with so I can go home. I give another tug before my hand loses its grip and falls uselessly to my side, dangling like a pendulum. I stride off, never looking back or checking to see if he's following after me. I know that no matter how far I stray ahead, Undertaker will eventually make his way to me.

My index finger rubs at my lip as I turn a corner, walking blindly as my brain turns my thoughts over and over again like a coin. She worked at the grocery store that my father frequents, which is where they met in the first place. The restaurant has cameras set up for security purposes, so they were most likely spotted on film together. Once Elizabeth was reported missing, it would make sense that they would search every place that she had been before her untimely disappearance. So merely questioning my father would instantly clear his name of suspicion. I ran through the entire murder I had executed, trying to find any faults in my planning, but coming up empty. He should no longer be a suspect, but the way Hannah made it sound, he was in danger of being arrested. Perhaps he did something that came off as incriminating.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter if I had slipped up or if he had done something to alert the police to his involvement with her. All that mattered was that he needed me. If there was any evidence, any at all, I would find it and dispose of it. I couldn't allow them to take away my chance to be with him. I wouldn't let them take him away from me. Daddy is mine.

When I finally came back to my senses, I was sitting on the curb of some street, staring blankly at the pool of white coming down from the streetlamp. The sun had long since sunk, darkness and silence swathing me like a comforting blanket. The soft sound of footsteps coming towards me drew my attention, and I lifted my head to gaze up at Undertaker. His jaw was set tightly, as if he was clenching his teeth, and his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. I stood up, dusting my palms off as he approached me, and I began walking at his side.

"Why do you keep her around? She's a threat. We should get rid of her," I stated coldly, remembering my prior outrage at his _darling_ sister knowing even one hint of information about me because of his loose lips.

Undertaker merely waved away my words. "I wasn't lying when I said she would never betray me. Her obsession would never allow her to do so. Besides, she is of great use to me." He didn't sound very happy about this. In fact, his voice was the most emotionless I had ever heard, completely void of fluctuation and possessing an eerie monotony.

It was extremely strange to see him this way, when the only Undertaker I knew was one that laughed uncontrollably and found everything amusing. He wasn't even _smiling_. I could have died from shock. How extremely peculiar of him. Putting it out of my head, I focused on the mission at hand. We turned into someone's drive and began approaching a rather decent looking house. I had to focus on the job at hand, but I still found my mind drawn to my father.

No matter what I had to do, or the cost, I would make sure that his name remained unsullied.

 _I'll save you, Daddy,_ I thought with intense determination as the back door swung open, and I took the first step inside the silent house.


	11. Intermission: Hannah's Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally got off my ass and finished this chapter. Cool. Sorry to keep you all waiting. Hope you enjoy.

Hannah's eyes flicked from left to right, disinterest gleaming within them. She was always surrounded by people, therefore she was used to never being alone, but that didn't mean it wasn't boring. Currently, she was in the center of the commotion in the office, sitting in a cubicle while various other coworkers stood around chatting. This didn't happen very often; in fact, this had never happened in her entire history of working at UTI. The only reason why this was possible was due to the boss never showing up today. This wasn't like him. He always called in when he knew he wouldn't be coming, and most of the time he'd simply show up late rather than not showing up at all. This could only mean one thing.

He killed the girl.

Hannah didn't think it'd be possible. When her brother first revealed his plot, she had merely scoffed and casted doubt on his abilities. Never did she ever think he could manage to pull something like this off, yet somehow he did.

After all these years, he still hadn't changed.

He always was a very secretive and mysterious man. Hannah had lived with him most of her life, yet she still didn't know what made him tick. Oh, how she was dying to know what fueled that man. Although, in a way, she already knew.

Death. That was the only thing that kept him alive, ironically enough.

Ever since they were kids, he had an obsession with it. He was captivated by how bodies worked, what kept them going, and, ultimately, what stopped them from functioning. He desired to know what made our bodies different from animals, and why people could survive scenarios that they couldn't and vice versa. He carried out his obsession by killing small animals in the backyard and dissecting them, piece by piece, until he was satisfied with the answers he found. He'd rip the wings off of birds and watch them as they struggled to fly away, but couldn't. He'd cut off the ears of rabbits and study their reactions, which mostly consisted of them making the most horrid sounds and running around in blind panic. Hannah couldn't count how many animals he killed altogether. She was sure he exterminated over half of the pest population.

Hannah never shared the obsession her brother had. In fact, she couldn't understand why he felt such happiness whenever he killed something. Hannah couldn't judge him, however; actually, no one in their family could judge him. They were all a little... Bizarre.

To the average person, their family appeared quite normal. Their father worked hard every day, and their mother remained home to do the cooking and cleaning. At night, they all ate dinner together, where they discussed their days and whatever else they wished to talk about. Oh, and, like most perfect families, they took a new family picture every year, and hung the portrait over the mantle to proudly display their familial closeness. On the outside, they were everything a normal family should be. Unfortunately, however, an outsider's perception is often distorted.

Unlike most of the children Hannah and her brother knew, their parents weren't drunks, which, in most situations, would make everything better. This was not the case for them. It made everything seem so much worse knowing that they were fully sober the entire time.

According to her mother, Hannah's father had explored her body from the day she was born. And, every day since then, he had continued to touch her. Hannah never remembered any of this, for she was too young at the time to recall these innocent memories. She did, however, remember the more explicit ones.

She could easily recall her fifth birthday, the day when her father forced her to give him her first handjob. Of course, he did this after her brother left to go to a friend's house later that day, so he never knew about it. Up until her sixth birthday, she was told to do this every day, and she had no choice but to do it.

On her seventh birthday, she was made to use her mouth for the first time, again by her father. This time, her brother was actually present for the event, and he, along with their mother, witnessed it firsthand in the living room. Her brother had actually defended her, telling their father to stop what he was doing at once. In response, their father calmly explained that he was doing nothing wrong.

"Son, Anna doesn't have a problem with this."

"That's because she's too young to know what she's doing!"

"She's not doing anything wrong. Your mother's okay with it, I'm okay with it."

"This isn't something normal families would do!"

"How would you know? This is the only family you have. Look at her, Son. Does it really look like I'm hurting Anna? I'm not even touching her."

"Well, no..."

"I promise it's okay. So just sit back and watch."

And they did, every day, up until her eighth birthday. That was when things got very serious.

Hannah could still hear the sound of fists pounding on her bedroom door, the wood creaking with each forceful hit.

"Anna! Are you all right?! Anna!"

She could hear her brother screaming her name through the door, but she wasn't able to answer. She was stuck, pinned to her bed underneath her father, his lips crushed to hers. She was thrashing wildly, muffled cries of pain escaping her as her father jabbed his finger in harder.

"Anna! Mom, let me in! You promised you wouldn't hurt her!"

"In a minute, Dear," their mother answered, her voice cold as her eyes stayed fixated on the scene. "The worst has yet to come."

Minutes later, something much bigger slammed into Hannah, something that made her cries turn into ear-piercing screams.

"ANNA!"

She couldn't remember much of what happened after that, most likely because her brain found it too traumatic for her to remember at the time. She found that thought silly as she recalled the events, but she couldn't help that she forgot everything that happened up until a few hours afterward.

"Anna," he whispered, his arms circled around her. He couldn't find other words to say as he held her, snot and tears dripping down his hands as his little sister bawled. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm sorry. I'll protect you, I promise. I promise I'll never hurt you."

The little girl sniffled, halting her crying momentarily to look up into her brother's eyes. "Liar."

He blinked in surprise at her words, before his eerie orbs shone with sympathy. He knew she was right.

After that day, nothing was truly the same. Hannah was now forced to have sex with him every day, while her brother was made watch alongside their mother. For a while, her brother continued to defend her and try to stop him, but when Hannah stopped crying, he eventually would stop defending her.

"Dad, just stop."

"Son, I've told you a million times, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just trying to make her feel good. Anna, baby, it doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"No. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"See? She feels good now."

"...It really doesn't hurt anymore, Anna?"

"No."

And that was the end of her brother's protests. He gave up on trying to help her, for he figured she wasn't in pain anymore. It seemed their father didn't want to hurt her, after all.

He then willingly watched their routine, even throwing in some commentary once in a while.

"Anna, turn this way. I don't have a good enough view."

"Anna, make more noise. You've been too quiet."

"Come on, Anna. You can do better than that."

Of course, this went on, until, eventually, their father insisted that he needed to step in. Hannah, at the time, was panting on the floor, exhausted from the newly finished intercourse, when her father stood and moved away from her, proceeding to redress himself.

"Son, I'm not the only man in this house, you know. You're not a boy anymore, and it's about time you prove that."

They both knew what he was insinuating. The very thought made Hannah extremely nervous, where as her brother seemed completely calm and collected. He easily stripped in front of her before he knelt on the ground and hovered over her body, pressing his chest to hers. Sliding between her legs, he gave her an almost solemn smile as he stroked her cheek. "I guess you were right. I am a liar."

And so started another routine for their family. Amazingly enough, they all managed to keep their dirty secrets under wrap quite well. They attended church every Sunday, volunteered in the community, even went on picnics with other families. In Hannah's eyes, the normalcy they put on for others wasn't normal to her. She found it odd that other families didn't have relationships like she did with her family. Though, being a child, she didn't understand how families were supposed to act. Hannah didn't think that mattered though. What she knew was the normal for her, and so everyone continued with their routines. Hannah would willingly go to her father's room - occasionally without being called there - she'd engage in sexual acts with her brother every once in a while, and her sibling was killing a new animal every day for his own reasons.

He was only fourteen when he killed his first human. She could recall how she was playing outside at the time, and he suddenly came sprinting at her, his face a pale yellow as if he was about to be sick.

"Anna! You have to help me! Please!" He tugged on her arm desperately, and she looked at him, dumbfounded at his behavior.

"What's wrong? Should I get Mom and Dad?"

"NO! Just, please, come with me. Please, Anna!"

Reluctantly, Hannah went with him. He led her into the woods that weren't too far away from their house. Sure, they had played here before as young children, but now that they were a bit older, they hadn't went to the woods together in a long time.

"Why are we here?"

"I did something. Bad."

"What did you do?"

"I-I stabbed a person."

"What?! You didn't! I thought you only hurt animals!"

"I-I know, but- I just wanted to try it and... H-he got away."

"He's still _alive?!_ If he tells on you, you'll... You'll be..."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I need your help."

Her brother went on to explain that the man seemed like a random hiker who was simply exploring and taking in the scenery of the woods. Being curious, he approached the man, and offered to show him around to the prettiest locations. The man agreed, and they traveled deeper into the woods. An urge to hurt the man had began to bubble up inside of him, and the longer they walked, the more pronounced the urge was. Eventually, he couldn't take it, and he took his father's pocket knife and promptly plunged it into the man's side.

"Then he ran from me," he huffed. "I guess I expected him to just drop dead like most of the animals do, but he ran. I couldn't catch up to him, and I didn't know what to do, so I ran to you."

"Do you think he'd remember what you looked like? You look like a normal boy."

"He'd remember my eyes. He commented on how weird they are."

She didn't doubt that. Her brother's eyes were extremely eerie, and even when he seemed content, they were unnervingly piercing. His irises were a peculiar shade of yellow; they glowed ominously, and even in the dark, you could see their color. Hannah had constantly compared his eyes to those of a cat, because never in her life did she see another human's eyes like his. He was right; if that man had seen his eyes, he wouldn't forget them.

"What should we do?"

"We have to catch him," he responded darkly. The tone shocked her, for she never heard him speak in such a menacing way.

"Then what?

"We have to kill him. You'll have to do it, Anna."

"Me?! No, I can't! You're the one who loves killing things!"

"I know, but he'll overpower me if I do it on my own. Here, take my knife. I'll hold him down, and you stab him. Okay? You better not let me down, Anna."

She didn't want to disappoint her brother, but the thought of stabbing an individual scared her. What if she couldn't do it? What if he got away again? Then _both_ of them would be in huge trouble.

The first priority was finding the man. The forest was actually quite large, especially if you didn't know the area. Luckily, for them, no houses lived in the direct surroundings of it, either; the closest neighborhood was roughly a mile away from the woods. That gave them some assurance, but, at the same time, they had no idea where the guy ran off to.

"How do you know he's still in the woods? He could've contacted help by now."

"Call it a hunch. I led him pretty deep into the forest, so he shouldn't have gotten too far."

"But you also ran all the way to the house to get me. Wouldn't that give him enough time to escape?"

"You have to consider the fact that he doesn't know the area. Everything looks the same, and there's no way to tell where he's been and where he hasn't. Plus, I did stab him pretty deep. He shouldn't be as mobile now."

They were in a terrible situation. If they couldn't find this guy, she knew she'd probably never see her brother again. She couldn't risk that. She would do everything in her power to stop that from happening.

So they searched and searched. Once in a while they'd split up and circle the area, then they'd reunite and move to another sector of the woods. Unfortunately, though, they weren't having any luck. They didn't find any blood trails, footsteps, or wandering strangers. As time passed, her brother started to become more frantic.

"I-I don't think he's in here. We should go home."

"NO! WE CAN'T GO HOME, ANNA! YOU GOT THAT?!"

"B-but, we can't find him..."

That was the first time she ever saw such malevolence in his eyes. His irises were dark, his nostrils flared and his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. He'd never been so furious in his life. Suddenly, stepping over to her, he shoved her down hard, making her fall to her knees. She cried out as her kneecaps smashed into a jagged rock beneath her, the edges scraping and cutting up her skin as blood started to ooze out of the wounds. Tears filled her eyes and she sniffled, trying to keep her whimpers muffled. Her brother tangled his fingers in her hair and forced her head up, the rough action making her cry out again.

"Cry out for Mom," he growled.

Blinking up at him in puzzlement, she whined. "W-what?"

A guttural roar ripped out of her brother and he yanked on her hair again, his free hand balling up in a tight fist in front of her. "Cry out for her or I'll punch your fucking face in, Anna!"

Tears instantly poured out of her eyes and she wailed like a child. "Mom!"

The scream echoed through the trees, her voice still heard as it traveled through the woods. Almost instantaneously, another voice called out in response.

"Who's that? Is someone out there?"

"Keeping saying it, Anna," her brother commanded as he let go of her hair. "I'll be over here."

Through watery eyes, she watched as her brother ran and hid behind a thick tree. She continued crying, her throat straining as she shrieked over and over again. "Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Not even a few minutes later, a man emerged from the trees, gasping as he made a slow jog toward her. His hands were pressed against his side tightly as he moved, and once in a while he'd let out a painful grunt. Finally, when he was in front of her, he knelt down to her level.

"Oh, no. Did you hurt yourself? What happened?"

"M-Mom..." she sniffled, refusing to say anything else.

"Mom? Did you lose your mom?"

"Mom..."

"Can you stand? I'll help you find her."

The man took hold of her hands, and started to gently help her to her feet. Before she could stand, however, her brother darted out from behind the tree and lunged at the man, his arms wrapping around and trapping the guy's arms.

"W-what?!" He started to struggle and thrash, yelling expletives and demanding to be let go.

"Now, Anna! Don't fucking hesitate!" Her brother shouted, groaning as he tried to keep a hold on the man. Acting purely on adrenaline, Hannah whipped her brother's knife out and roughly plunged it into the male's chest, making him cry out in agony. She then pulled it out and sank it into his chest again, each time the man making a pained sound.

She stabbed him over and over and over again. Blood had drenched the man's entire front at this point, and he stopped making noises; now, he simply exhaled ragged breaths. Red had oozed out from his lips and was running down his chin, and splatters of the fluid had landed on Hannah and her brother, as well.

Her sibling slowly let go of the man, letting him fall onto his back. Hannah continued to stab him relentlessly, pants leaving her at the strenuous motion. Placing his hand on top of hers, her brother halted her.

"He's dead now. You can stop."

She promptly ceased her movements, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she sucked in gulps of air. She had been worried that she wouldn't be able to do it, yet she had continued stabbing the man even after he died. She glanced up at her brother, and he gave her a small smile.

"Let's go home, Anna. The animals should have him eaten in a few days."

And so marked the day that changed their lives forever. In all honesty, Hannah knew that it was her first kill, not her brother's, but she gave him the credit for it because it wasn't something she was necessarily proud of. At age ten, she wasn't eager to claim that she successfully killed a man by stabbing him over fifty times. However, her brother was.

After that, her sibling's urge to kill was much stronger and much more dangerous. He didn't want to slaughter animals anymore; now that he had had a taste of human blood, he craved more. Hannah had begged him not to, as the punishment for killing humans versus animals was much more severe, but he didn't listen. He was too blinded by his obsession.

Unfortunately for him, he faced a problem. He was only fourteen, and he was rather scrawny. He had gotten lucky that he took the man in the woods by surprise, for if he hadn't, he likely would've been overpowered. And, if it wasn't for Hannah, he wouldn't have been able to kill him at all. This left him at a disadvantage, but where he lacked in strength, he made up for in brains.

He decided he would start murdering children younger than him.

Now, Hannah was completely against this. Their first violent encounter with a human ended badly, and she repeatedly reminded him of this. He insisted that with a child, he wouldn't need much strength, and he could easily kill them by himself. He also explained that he'd ride his bike far away from where they lived, and slaughter children who lived in different towns. Hannah continued to question him on his process, but he wouldn't reveal anything. He said he had it handled, and she had no choice but to believe him.

In the end, he seemed to have known what he was doing, because Hannah never heard another word about his morbid hobbies. She thought about questioning him, but she never had the guts to. Besides, something about his desires seemed off to her. Sure, she had brutally stabbed a man without a second thought, and she had done so with ease; however, it wasn't the act of killing that made Hannah uncomfortable. It was the fact that it was her brother.

Years would pass, and distance between the two siblings grew. They were never very close in the first place, but Hannah liked to believe that if she was in trouble, her brother would be there for her, just like he was when their father had first molested her. As their odd relationship - if it could even be called a relationship - became more and more strained, she doubted that her brother would even care if anything happened to her. He was hardly ever home, and though no one ever questioned him on it, she knew what he was doing. She figured he'd rather be out killing than protecting his sister if she was in danger, and to this day, she knew she was right.

Eventually, they made it to their teenage years, and with the new development of their bodies, their personalities began to form, as well. Hannah liked to believe that she hadn't changed very much, but her brother sure did. His temper had shortened remarkably, to the point where he'd break at the snap of a finger. Many times he choked and bruised Hannah, along with slamming her against doors and cutting her with his knives. She learned fast that it was best to leave him alone, especially if he seemed like he was in a sour mood already. She also realised that if his bedroom door was shut, she should never, _ever_ go inside.

_Knock knock._

"Brother, are you in there?"

...

_Knock knock._

"Hello? Answer me."

...

After waiting nearly ten minutes for her sibling to answer her calls, but with no luck, she decided to open his bedroom door and go inside. She was concerned for his well-being, for he had been in his room all day, and she hadn't heard a peep from him. Although he had started acting more reclusive as a teen, it was unlike him to stay in his room all day without coming outside once. Hannah supposed it couldn't hurt to check in on him.

Opening the door, she walked into the room, looking around for her brother as she spoke. "Are you in here? You haven't come out all da-"

She had froze in her tracks, her words getting lost as vomit crept up the back of her throat threateningly. She gulped it down as her face paled, her feet stumbling a bit as her balance nearly gave out. Her brother, who had been sitting on his knees on the floor, was now looking up at her, his menacing yellow eyes making her blood run cold. Underneath him was sheets of plastic, runny red liquid staining the glossy material. In some areas, the fluid had crusted into a dark crimson and brown, identical to the dried sanguine flakes that clung onto the gloves he was wearing. In the center of the deepest puddle of red was a human head, separated entirely from a body, for a corpse was nowhere to be found. The mouth of the head was agape in the most horrific silent scream; the agony the person had suffered was engraved on his face even in death. The most surprising and grotesque aspect of the situation was the fact that the man's eyes were completely severed from their sockets, empty holes taking the place of where his orbs had been. Those very same orbs were laying in a jar next to her brother's knee, and she caught a glimpse of the lifeless, yet ironically sentient irises. It took all she had not to puke.

"Anna, you stupid fucking idiot."

That was all she heard before she was tackled to the ground, her head smacking back into the door and slamming it shut as she fell to the floor, a heavy body compressing her into the carpet. She struggled and gasped underneath her brother as his hands wrapped around her neck and started to wring it ruthlessly, chips of blood littering her skin along with a few streaks of it here and there. As children, she had somewhat of a possibility to fight him off, but now, she was much weaker. He had started working out and weight training now that he was older, and it had paid off. Her brother had a tendency to wear clothes that were extremely loose and baggy on him, and one day he explained that it was because he preferred to keep his physical abilities a secret. Hannah was aware that he had gotten much stronger, for he was currently shirtless, and his tensed abs and biceps reminded her of that as he strangled her.

"Let... Go..."

"You asked for this, Anna. What the fuck are you doing in my room? I _told_ you to always knock before you come in. These are the consequences of your actions."

"Didn't... Answer..."

"Then that means you need to _stay the fuck out."_

She wheezed as he delivered a swift punch to her abdomen, his fist crushing into her stomach and knocking out any remaining air she had left in her lungs. Had she not been on her back, she probably would've thrown up, but since she was, she simply had to swallow down her stomach contents whenever they threatened to come up again. Over and over he punched and struck her, refusing to grant her any mercy. After he was satisfied with her beaten state, he yanked her up, threw her out into the hall, and slammed the door behind her without another word.

She never had another desire to check up on him again.

For a long time, the two siblings didn't speak to one another. Hannah tried her best to stay far away from her brother, and when she heard his bedroom door open, she bolted in the other direction. She definitely didn't want to experience another reenactment of the last time she enraged him, nor did she want to see another gruesome scene.

One day, however, while Hannah was reading a book on the couch, she heard her brother's bedroom door creak open for a minute before the sound of it shutting met her ears. She tensed up as she identified the soft padding of footsteps heading in her direction, and she forced her eyes to stay focused on her book. A few moments later, her brother came striding through the living room, walking right past her and making his way into the kitchen. She stole a quick glance up at him once his back was to her, and her suspicions had been confirmed: her brother had been working out for quite a while.

It had been silent in the house all day, however, Hannah had heard grunting from her brother's room, and she was concerned about what was causing it. He could've been killing or mutilating another person, or worse, perhaps he was pleasuring himself without the need of her presence. That thought made her want to check, but she refused to let her curiosity get the better of her; she knew her brother would only attack her if she went into his room, anyway. So, she left him alone, and the grunting continued for hours. Eventually, she wondered if he was merely exercising, for he was normally completely muted when he was performing grotesque tasks, and as far as Hannah knew, her brother never masturbated.

Well, her last guess proved to be true. She studied her brother's bare, muscular back as he moved further and further away from her, tears of sweat glistening on his skin. His long black hair was also damp with perspiration, and it was glued and matted to his flesh. Hannah squinted as she stared at his long locks, her pupils scanning over each individual strand. She noted that streaks of silver were starting to take over some of the black, the bright hairs standing out against his natural dark mane. This was interesting to her, for she had the same problem. A few months ago, while she was getting ready for school, Hannah noticed a single grey hair had sprouted out from the top of her head, and she was bewildered at its appearance. Since then, many had appeared, and they could be easily distinguishable from her chestnut follicles. Hannah was insecure about it, though, and when she stayed over at her friends' homes, she'd color her hair with their help. Soon, she'd have to color it again.

She just couldn't understand why their hair was starting to grey. They were only in high school, and neither of their parents had grey hair yet. Hannah couldn't determine the cause, and she wondered if her brother had noticed his hair changing.

She flinched as the slam of the refrigerator door echoed through the house. Leaning forward from her seat, she peered into the kitchen, and saw her brother chugging down a bottle of water. Biting her lip, she reclined back into the couch, not wanting to be caught staring. After a few minutes, her sibling left the kitchen and crossed through the living room, his hand raking through his soaked hair as he approached the hallway leading to his room. Still chewing on her lip anxiously, Hannah decided to bravely speak up, though her voice came out as more of a croak.

"Your hair is starting to grey."

Her brother froze, the muscles underneath his skin tensing slightly. Hannah lowered her head a bit in trepidation, and she remained still as he turned around to face her, his sweat-coated bangs hiding his eyes, yet his lips curled into a small frown. "What of it?"

Hannah shrugged a little, speaking quietly and neutrally. "It's just something I noticed. Mine is too."

Her brother took a few steps closer to her, his abdominal muscles tightening as he looked her over. She bowed her head even more, causing his frown to deepen. "Tch. Looks all right to me."

"I've been dyeing it."

Her brother hummed in thought, before he shrugged and lifted his water bottle to his lips. "Yeah, my hair's getting grey. I don't really care." He took a few drinks out of the bottle before he spun around and started treading toward the hallway once more.

But Hannah wasn't satisfied yet.

"Do you have more of those jars?" She blurted out.

Her brother halted once again, only this time, every muscle in his body seemed flexed as he turned back to face her once again, his visible features cold. "What jars?"

"Jars like... Like the one I saw in your room that day. Do you have more?"

He was silent for a long while, and though she couldn't see his eyes, she was sure that he was studying her closely. When he must've realised that Hannah wasn't going to say anything else, he spoke. "Yes."

"Yes? So there are more? What do you do with them?"

"I keep them."

"But why?"

"Because I like them."

"But why? I mean, why eyes?"

Her brother sighed, his head bowing as his concealed eyes stared at the floor for a moment, before he perked back up as they flicked back to her again. Her blood ran cold as a dark smile curled his lips, and goosebumps lined her flesh as he started taking slow steps toward her. "Hmm, well if the fact that I like them isn't enough of an answer, let me spell it out for you."

Hannah cried out as he reached out and grasped her chin, his sharply torn nails digging into the flesh along her jawline. The tips of his fingers were stained black with an unknown substance, though she figured the identity of it was better left a mystery. His grin grew wider as he leaned closer to her face, so close that she could taste his breath. "You want to know why I like eyes? I like - no, I _love_ eyes, because they're just so damn expressive!" He exclaimed cheerfully - no, rather, manically. "You can see a person's _soul_ through their eyes, Anna. Did you know that? Nothing is left to the imagination when it comes to eyes. In fact, you can read someone's every thought if you look deep enough into them. And do you wanna know the most beautiful and gratifying part?" He began to shake with anticipation at this, and he dropped his voice down to a whisper. "If a person dies horrifically, that pain is engraved into their eyes forever. You can just _see_ the misery embedded in their corneas. Eyes are the most honest thing we humans possess, Anna. You'd be smart to acquire an appreciation for them."

Hannah didn't know what to say. She was quiet for a long time, letting her brother's words sink in. That was the first time she saw a minor shred of his true insanity seep out, and it genuinely terrified her. He was mad. There was no doubt in her mind about that.

After a long while, her brother let go of her and finally turned to leave, only then did she find the courage to finally pipe up. "We could do something. You don't have to stay in your room forever, you know."

He glanced over at her, and she sensed his piercing gaze although she couldn't see it. To her relief, his response suggested that his madness had dissipated for the time being, but she wasn't pleased with the response itself. "I don't want to have sex with you, if that's what you mean."

Hannah opened her mouth to comment, but then it closed on its own. He didn't? Why? She wasn't sure how to please males except for in the form of sexual attention, so if he didn't want that, what _did_ he want?

Her brother waited a couple minutes to see if she would say anything, but when he realised she wouldn't, he took off down the hall and went back into his room. Hannah, on the other hand, sat there and tried to ponder things her mind couldn't understand as soft grunts of exertion once again floated through their home.

Of course, it was only expected for things to go awry for the two siblings eventually. However, Hannah supposed she was always the one dragged into trouble, because her brother was the one who caused it.

"Wake up."

Hannah groaned as the sound of her bedroom door hitting the wall with a loud crack met her ears, along with a deep, cold voice. Her tired eyes barely opened as sleep still had her lids sealed for the time being, and she looked over her shoulder toward her door, her blurry vision revealing a figure in the entryway.

"Wake up," he said again, impatience in his tone. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she sat up slightly, her dark, mussed up hair draping over her shoulders.

"What is it?"

"I need your help."

Her eyes were wide open then, for she hadn't heard him speak those words in years. As her brother had grown, his pride had strengthened itself exponentially, as well. He had avoided her like the plague for who knows how long, and he was always doing secretive things alone. She was aware that he was still killing people, but she never knew the details; he was now too prideful in his "work" to ask for Hannah's help, nor divulge any of his secrets.

"You're asking for my help?"

"It isn't a question, Anna. It's a demand. Besides, you're already awake, so you might as well make yourself useful."

Hannah grimaced at his words as she slid off of her bed and stood to her feet, her arms crossing over her chest defensively. She couldn't scream expletives, though she wanted to, for if she did, there was the fear of him attacking her. She wasn't too afraid to snap a little, however. "You've been doing just fine on your own for quite a while. You're the one who wanted nothing to do with me."

"Now is not the time," he hissed, but she refused to relent.

"If you're in such a rush, then you take care of it on your own. I'm not useful as your sister anymore."

He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged on it harshly for a moment, his arms tensing as rage seemed to course through him. Hannah had taken a risk; she was honestly surprised he hadn't ripped her to pieces yet. He stayed where he was, though, yanking on his hair wildly in frustration and growling under his breath. After a few moments, he stopped and sighed in exasperation as he regarded her. "I'll do whatever you want, okay, Anna? Sex, right? That's what you want, isn't it? We'll have sex then. Just get your ass in gear and _help me."_

Hannah kept her arms crossed and her expression stony. That wasn't what she truly desired, but she supposed she'd take what she could get from him. "Okay, I'll help."

He grunted. "Good, come on."

Turning on his heel, he stormed out of her room in a hurry, and she practically had to sprint to keep up with his rushed walking. They made their way through the house until they eventually strode out into the cool, night air. Hannah briefly glanced up at the stars but her brother paid them no mind as he stalked over to his truck and threw the driver side door open. Her eyes then flicked over to his rusty old vehicle, her nostrils flaring slightly in distaste. The entire truck was a mess, from the torn up leather seats to the broken windows that refused to roll down, and the paint was so chipped on the exterior that you couldn't even tell what the original color had been. She climbed into the vehicle, groaning in irritation when the ragged leather scratched her clothed backside as she sat down. She waited for her brother to get in, and remained silent until they were steadily traveling down the road.

"I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake," her sibling growled under his breath. "Never thought I'd fuck up so bad with something like this."

 _Ah, so that's what happened,_ Hannah thought. _He finally left some damning evidence behind._

It was only a matter of time before her brother would slip up. She knew that; a piece of her hoped that never had to happen, though. Then again, he had been a fuckface her whole life, so maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine in jail. As much as she wished that a few hard-asses in prison would knock some sense into him, however, she knew that it just wouldn't be possible. If her brother was condemned, there was always a possibility of execution, and if he _did_ simply remain in prison, she feared more for the men inside. They could be tough and scary, but she knew the truth about her brother. He was an undeniable monster, which was much scarier than any strong man.

Hannah was quite conflicted in this situation. She didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved that something may happen to her brother. She chose the former. After all, asshole or not, she did still love and admire him.

"So, did the guy escape?" She asked. "Or have the cops already discovered the body? _Or_ did you misplace evidence?"

Her brother slowly turned to regard her, and when he did, his expression made it seem like she had a third eye growing out of her head. _"You fucking moron._ Do you really consider me to be that reckless? Do you think I jump into murders without having a careful plan in mind? Only after constructing a flawless outline of events do I finally choose to act on them, Anna. Grow a fucking brain."

"Why do you need my help then?" Hannah questioned angrily. "Surely if you're _so intelligent_ you should have the situation sorted out."

"I did," he breathed, reaching a hand up to rake his fingers through his dark hair. "But the bitch had brown eyes."

Hannah winced in surprise, her own orbs open wide in puzzlement and her voice taking on the same tone. "What?"

"She had brown eyes," he repeated, shaking his head. "Brown. Ugly, ugly, ugly."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The problem wasn't with the murder itself, but that the victim he chose had _brown eyes?_

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that his sister was confused, so before she spoke, he took over. "Before you ask ridiculous questions, no, I actually love all eyes. However, the majority of my victims have had brown eyes, and I wouldn't want a pattern to be revealed early. It's bad enough that the police will discover missing eyes eventually. Plus I'm tired of a bunch of brown eyes staring at me. I need some variety," he stated, as if it was as simple as ever.

"Then why do you need my help?"

"That should be obvious. I need to kill someone with different eyes, and you're going to help me pick the perfect person. Preferably a male, as well. The last three I killed were women."

"As long as I don't have to watch," Hannah muttered, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a villainous grin spreading over his lips.

"Oh, but dear sister, that's half the fun."

 

* * *

 

It was over quick.

Or, at least, that's what Hannah was led to believe.

Her brother had her pick out an unfortunate individual, and once she made her choice, he disappeared in a crowd of people.

She never found out what happened.

He ordered her to remain in the truck, and she did as she was told. Although, she was quite puzzled as to why her brother claimed he needed her help, yet all she had to do was point out a random man for him to target.

Even since childhood, she never could wrap her mind around him.

The next thing she remembered was going home. They had sex, something that was wonderful for Hannah, but tedious for her sibling.

She could remember him sitting up when he was finished, his breath not even faltering as he began redressing. Hannah had been panting and drawing in deep breaths; the entire act was so passionate for her, her heart felt like exploding. An even greater feeling was fluttering within her insides, though, and that was the ecstatic grip of victory. She, in her own way, had won.

Her dad, in his very twisted methods, had taught her that sex led to a very deep, insatiable love between two people. A love that burned like a thousand suns, or, in less clichéd terms, a love that could unite any normal girl with her psychotic brother.

She officially claimed him. He was hers. He would be hers forever. Nothing could compare to how blissful this fact made her. Nothing would ever taste as sweet as her being able to utter that he was now unconditionally-

"Let's get this straight before your mind starts playing tricks on you," he growled, his menacing yellow eyes glinting in the dark. "I don't love you. I'll never love you. I will _never_ be yours. I did this just to shut you up, so wipe that annoying grin off of your face, and, from now on," he leaned down quickly, his nose pressing into hers and grinding their bone structures together painfully as he hissed. "Don't ask me for another fucking favor _for as long as you live."_

Hannah shivered. That scene was so memorable that the tone of his voice could still send chills down her spine to this day. Unfortunately, something that was so passionate and worthwhile for her ended up becoming such an unpleasant memory.

"Hannah, lunch break!" A lady called to her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She was thankful for that. If not for conveniently timed interruptions, she was sure she could easily sit in the same place for centuries, slowly rotting away, covered in dust and cobwebs, continuing to dwell on thoughts of her sibling.

The breeze ran its invisible fingers through her hair, its fingertips making her scalp prickle at the sudden cold sensation. She loved when the wind had a chill to it. It was always better to have your nipples showing than a pair of pit stains. No man ever hardened over the thought of pit stains.

She relished in the satisfying _click, click, click_ that her stilettos made as they trekked across the pavement toward her car, her eyes taking in the beautiful glint of the polish that was as silver as her tresses. Her long fingers curled around the door handle before she tugged it open, bending her knees as she slid into the driver's seat easily. Her hand instantly began to dig through her purse in search for her cigarettes, and, once found, she slid a nice 100 between her lips and lit the end of it with a long, much needed drag. She kept the savior of her sanity clenched tight in her teeth as she unbuttoned her blouse a little. As chilly as the breeze was, the interior of her car soaked up sun rays like a whore on the beach, and she couldn't risk the possibility of pit stains.

"Guess some breast sweat would keep the men in the office in line, though," she mused to herself as a chemical cloud flooded out a tiny gap in her mouth. Even coated in the most grotesque substances, boobs were still boobs, and men would never pass on the opportunity to stare and touch them; similarly to the fact that females would never miss out on a new fragrance or designer purse. It was simply human nature, and Hannah had it nailed down to a science. Everything was solved with sex, or things you could buy from having sex, especially with a well-off individual. Everybody knew that. And, speaking of fucking a well-off individual, it was time that her husband changed the oil in her car, Hannah thought. She was sure a blowjob would do the trick.

Her poor, poor husband. She really did feel bad for him at times, even though he could be the biggest sucker of cocks this planet had ever seen. He never had gotten close to hitting her, though, and that was more than she could say about her _true_ love. Besides, it didn't matter what he did. Their marriage was based on looks and a give-and-take ritual. She clung to his arm and kept up a perfect wife appearance in public, as well as fulfilling his sexual desires in private, and in return, he gave her whatever she desired. She was sure he knew that she was fucking other people regularly, but she was certain that he didn't care so long as she did her part in their marital agreement. And she always did.

"And, while he's busy fiddling with the car," she hummed, a smirk gracing her purple lips. "I can go shopping."

 

* * *

 

Four hours after her shift had ended, Hannah was walking out of a boutique with too many bags to count. Her heels, - being about seven inches tall, mind you - were typically a piece of cake to walk in, but with the added weight, she teetered uneasily as she strolled down the sidewalk. A part of her wished that she brought the car with her, but her home was only eight blocks away or so, and she didn't mind walking. You were more likely to catch the attention of possible suitors on foot rather than cruising in a car.

Hannah hummed to herself in pleasure as she soaked in stares other people offered, her polished shoes clicking happily per usual. Her navy skirt bunched up a bit as she swayed her hips, allowing some skin on her upper thigh to be revealed to the world. Her black lace bra was also making an appearance through her white, rather translucent blouse, and her cleavage was bouncing excitedly above the fabric, peeking through open buttons. Hannah reached a weighed-down arm up, using one of her manicured talons to push her giant sunglasses further up her nose before it lowered back to her side, clutching half of her shopping bags to her hourglass figure.

She glanced side-to-side enthusiastically, checking to make sure there were no cars barreling down the road before she entered the crosswalk. She certainly wouldn't want to meet an untimely death like Miss Elizabeth. Poor girl. Had she never met Sebastian, she wouldn't be dead as of this very moment. And had Ciel never been born, well... then her brother certainly wouldn't be so entertained constantly. Perhaps if he didn't exist, she could get her sibling's attention, or, perhaps, the attention of his devilishly handsome partner.

Hannah glanced down, checking her shopping bags briefly as she continued to cross the street, before her eyes returned to their proper place. When they did, however, she noticed two figures approaching from the opposite side of the street. Her pupils immediately dilated, her arms instantly dropping the bags in the middle of the highway, her goodies hitting the asphalt carelessly. A blush dared to creep over her skin, and she hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt a bit more so her bra was nearly completely revealed. Her opposite hand grabbed and yanked on the bun in her hair, her sharp nails pulling small strands out to make it appear seductively messy. Then, she waited for him to notice her, smugly smiling at the unsuspecting man as her arms crossed over her chest.

Finally, his eyes locked with hers. An impossibly stretched smile curled his lips, and he stopped directly in front of her, his rasping voice singing a simple word. "Anna."

The name made her insides immediately ignite in a fiery rage and panic. "HANNAH," she corrected quickly, if a little too rushed. "You never could get the name right," she added, attempting to cover up her sudden outburst.

Her eyes flicked to her brother's side momentarily, and she realised that he had company. Next to him stood a young, little midget, known as the repulsive term _"child."_ Her eyebrow dared to twitch upward slightly. It was no ordinary child, though. She knew in instant recognition that it was Sebastian's kid. The one named after an animal. Irritating, particular boy he was.

Ignoring him for the moment, however, her eyes traveled back to her brother, and with a clear of the throat, her index nail pulled her sunglasses down until they rested on the very tip of her nose. Now that her sapphire orbs could view him more clearly, her usual smirk widened as she purred at him. "How have you been, dear brother?"

Her sibling was choking up in a fit of laughter, and she knew why. Her seductive expression threatened to contort in a glare at his cackling. The motherfucker called her the wrong name on purpose, even though he knew she didn't go by it anymore. "I've been rather well," he replied through his wheezing. "You look quite well yourself."

This statement pleased Hannah immensely. Her eyes lidded, her tongue darting out to lick the lilac at her lips. Hell, she nearly moaned, if not for the interrupting voice of the annoying midget.

"I didn't know you had a sister, but..." he began, looking Hannah up and down before smirking coldly. "I can see the resemblance in her masculine jawline."

Hannah's posture stiffened, her already tight clothes forced to stretch out even farther as her muscles tensed in anger. She could've smacked the little shit. She knew his weak spots, though. If only he knew how easily she could manipulate his father into being wrapped around her finger. "Seal, isn't it?" She mused in a bored tone, choosing to mispronounce his name. His features twisted in absolute hatred, which made her arrogant smile gleam all the more bright. She leaned down a little, allowing herself better eye contact with the little twat before she spoke smoothly. "I work with your Daddy."

Straightening up, she began grinding the toe of her polished stiletto into the ground as she studied her flawless nails. "He's quite the charming man, getting all dressed up like he does. His cologne smells divine, as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about having him between my legs."

Her brother doubled over in laughter once again, and this time, she felt smug about it. She loathed being laughed at, but knowing she could make a maniac like him laugh was worth it. Ciel chose another approach, this time he feigned innocence, a cute smile lighting up his boyish face. If only he knew how fake it truly looked, and besides, he was still repulsive, being a child and all.

"You work with my Daddy?" He asked sweetly. "I didn't know, he's never mentioned you. Are you sure you work at an insurance company? Your shirt looks thinner than tissue paper."

 _Of course he's never mentioned me. He's never mentioned his favorite porn stars to you either, I'll bet, but that doesn't mean we still don't make him cum his brains out._ "Then I must be wearing it right," she chose to say, an unbothered chuckle leaving her at her statement. She ran her recently lotioned hand through his clearly freshly cleaned hair, knowing full well of his germaphobia, before her claws came around the side of his face to cup his jaw. Her nails jabbed into his cheek as she forced him to look into her eyes. "Never mind the way I dress, little boy. I know things about your Daddy that I'm sure you don't know yet." She promptly released him after speaking, and redirected her attention back to her brother, her hand stroking up and down his chest suggestively.

"You don't have to keep playing pretend, she knows everything about me," her sibling stated, finally regaining control of himself. His eyes rested on her, his smirk seeming pleased. "Sounds like my pet has some information."

The brat turned to her brother, his mouth open and ready to scold before he interrupted. "Now, now. My pet would never betray me, would you?" He cooed, leaving his attention on Hannah. His grimy hand rested on her hip teasingly, and she latched onto the affection in desperate need.

"It's been too long," she murmured softly, her lips pressing into his neck to leave a purple kiss on his skin. She pressed her body into his needily, her lengthy fingers running down his front and squeezing his thigh tenderly. Regrettably, she turned her head to the side, looking far, far down to regard the nuisance her and her brother were currently plagued with. "I'm not your enemy, Ciel. I want nothing to do with Sebastian and his awkward personality. But I do know that your father is in trouble."

She wasn't sure if Ciel would believe her, but she really was telling the honest truth. She wasn't his enemy, at least, not in a direct way. He had far more enemies than he truly knew about, and, as for his father, she sincerely wasn't interested in him. Sure, he was attractive, but he was no challenge. If she wanted his dick, she knew she could easily get it, but that would be too boring. Besides, Sebastian wasn't the only man on earth with his handsome looks.

She could practically snicker at the repulsed expression that was carved into his face at the sight of her touching her own brother so openly. She knew that she had him right where she wanted him, however, by the way he shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "What do you mean 'in trouble?'"

She felt sharp, overgrown nails dig into her skin as her sibling shared equal interest. "Do tell, pet."

Her eyes remained on her love, her voice softening as if Ciel poofed away in thin air. "He was taken in by the police for questioning. I'm assuming it's your doing," she said, though she already knew the story. Sebastian's little lapdog couldn't be informed of this, so she played along easily.

Keeping her focus on her brother, she leaned in closer to him, molding her body to his as her leg slowly rose up to caress his own. "I believe we have some catching up to do."

A quiet snicker left her sibling, and she could practically feel the excitement crawling underneath his flesh, she knew him so well. He wasn't excited for the reason that she was hoping, though. "Perhaps we do."

"We need to go," the brat wheezed as he grabbed onto her sibling. She looked down at him, obvious amusement drifting across her face as she took in the sudden paleness of his skin, a sheen sweat glazing itself over his entire form. He seemed to be trembling slightly, though she could tell that he was trying to maintain his composure. "Let's get this over and done so I can go home." As soon as he was done talking, he began walking away, expecting her sibling to follow him. She felt as if she just exterminated a cocky, reckless cockroach. And damn did that feel good.

What did _not_ feel good, however, was how as soon as the brat was out of sight, his expression fell into one of utter blankness, his arm dropping to his side casually, and his voice now dull and lacking his prior enjoyment. "Duty calls." Then, his face turned cold. "I have something I need to discuss with you."

The fucking bastard. He only did what he thought was best for himself, and couldn't give a damn about anyone else. Well, two could play at that game. "Oh, you do, do you? I'm afraid I'm not one for talking," she said with an arrogant sneer, her digits easily picking her bags back up mid-walk as she started to pass him.

"How unfortunate for you," he growled, gripping onto her shoulder harshly and stopping her in her tracks. She dropped her things once again as she was forced back around to face him, his hair briefly swaying to the side to reveal his malevolent eyes. He flicked his gaze up momentarily to see where Ciel headed before he returned his threatening glance to her. "I'm not giving you the choice. I haven't the time for this right now. Leave the door unlocked tonight, or don't. I'll find my way in."

She snickered at his attempt at dominance, enjoying his anger as she pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose nonchalantly. "And what if I'm not home?"

"You will be home," he snarled the command, leaving no room for argument. "If you are not, I have my ways of finding you, _sister dear,_ and I can assure you they are quite unpleasant." He smirked as a sudden dangerous glint found his eyes. "Or perhaps my brother-in-law and I can have a... Chat."

She shrugged, taking a quick glance at her nails. "Fine with me. He's just a bank account waiting to be spent." Truer words had never been spoken. If her brother _truly_ wanted to tear her heart out and trample on it until it was sullied, he'd have to commit suicide. "I suppose I'll be home," she started again, "but since you're _requiring_ me to stay there, I expect you to make it worth my while. Roses, wine, feel free to go all out." A dark smirk curled her lips, and before he could tear her apart, she yanked him toward her and pressed her mouth to his in a starving kiss.

His body tensed, and he promptly shoved her away, his hand striking out a rough backhand. The sudden hit made her stumble back a bit, and he wiped his mouth clear of lipstick before spitting on the asphalt. His glare couldn't have been laced with more rage. "We shall see."

"Harsh," she muttered, running a finger across her lip line to fix any smudges. "You'd think you could handle a simple kiss from your sister. At any rate, don't stand me up, baby. I want those roses."

"Fucking bitch," he growled, then stalked off after his wee companion, fury fixing his posture in a tense, crooked stance.

She couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't very often when she got the upper hand on her sibling, but when she did, it felt oh so sweet. She knew that if what he wanted to talk about was indeed important, he would surely show up with the flowers and alcohol, and he'd play nicely - or, at least, as nicely as possible for him - until she agreed to do what he wanted.

 _And he'll fuck me,_ she thought, brows furrowed in intense determination. She would guarantee it.

But, for now, she gently scooped up her bags and continued across the street, whistling to herself. It really was too bad that a car hadn't come barreling down the road, unable to stop, and ran them all over.

"Especially Ciel," she pondered, her eyes taking a curious look up at the setting sun. "After everything my brother will be putting him through, he'll wish he were dead."

 

* * *

 

Hannah lounged on the plush sofa without a care in the world, sipping at her nearly empty glass of wine as she let out a tranquil sigh. She was fully nude, except for a completely sheer lingerie robe that adorned her body, the fabric hanging freely without being constricted with a tie. He would be here soon. She knew it. Luckily, her husband was already asleep, and even if he was awake upstairs, he wouldn't dare come downstairs and disturb her. His record would no longer be pristine if he had to go through a nasty divorce, and he wouldn't want to risk that.

Right on cue, the front door was shoved open carelessly, and the figure of her brother walked in briskly, clenching flowers in one hand and a wine bottle in the other.

"Welcome home, honey. You're late," she chuckled in her perfected sultry tone, her hands slowly reaching up to undo her bun and let her long hair fall around her shoulders.

"Shut it, Anna," he growled, stalking over to her and wasting no time. He slammed the wine bottle down on the coffee table and tossed the roses at her feet. They were nearly dead; surely he chose those ones on purpose. "I remembered your fucking flowers and there's your wine, you raging alcoholic. Now do what I need of you so I can _leave."_

"Don't you want to sit and have a drink with me? We can light some candles and enjoy a romantic evening."

His hand lashed out like a python, bony fingers gripping onto her jaw so forcefully he could've shattered her skull in a single motion. He leaned in close to her, his bad breath fogging over her face and his nails digging in to her flesh for effect as he rasped. "I don't know what fucking game you're playing, but it is an unwise one. I was kind enough to bring what you desired, but this is the extent of my kindness. Now shut up and listen to me you fucking bitch, or else you'll be the next cunt I boil in acid."

"Tough day?" She asked, though she refrained from sounding overly sarcastic. Her brother released her face, instead deciding to dig into his pocket to pull out a plastic bag before he threw it at her.

She grabbed it, her eyes studying the contents of the bag. There was a knotted, dainty chain inside of it, the dim light making some of the gold shimmer, while other parts of it were caked in red.

"Take that to Rhonda's Place and plant it in the parking lot. They'll be sweeping the area tomorrow so do take care of it hastily. It's sure to make Faustus squirm and make things a bit more interesting. I'm sure I don't need to remind you how careful you must be with it."

Hannah studied it, her eyebrow arching slightly as she continued to stare at the plain looking jewelry. "All right, fine. I can manage that."

"Good," he simply said, before he turned toward the door.

Hannah watched after him, her eyes widening in surprise that he was already leaving so soon. "Wait! Have sex with me!"

Her brother looked over his shoulder, giving a snarl that could make anyone's blood freeze in their veins. "No. Good night, Anna."

He tried to turn away again, but Hannah spoke before he could. "I have Sebastian's number," she blurted out, watching his reaction. "I could tell him about this plan at any moment."

His posture turned dangerous. Snaps could be heard as he cracked bones in his body, no doubt preparing to tear her apart. He flipped on his heel and was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapping around her neck and squeezing until she let out loud chokes and gasps. "Do you want to die?" He threatened, his bangs hanging forward so the madness in his eyes could be clearly seen. "I will murder you, here and now. I will strangle you and dig your eyes out with my own two hands. I will rip your insides open and chew through your tendons. After I'm done with you, the mutts on the street won't even recognize you as fresh meat."

Hannah didn't know what to say. He could murder her, here and now, and there was nothing she could do about it. She continued coughing and sputtering, her skin turning blue as the lack of oxygen took over her brain. Her eyes began to roll closed, head tilting back lazily, and then, suddenly, she gasped a fresh gulp of air down when she felt his hand release her throat. Rubbing at her neck, she still sucked in huge breaths as she watched her sibling stand up, readying himself to exit the house for the final time.

"I'll leave you alone," she wheezed, her voice not even sounding like her own as her vocal chords strained. "I won't bother you again for a long, long time if you do this for me. I swear."

He regarded her with his menacing eyes for a few moments. "I expect you to hold up to those words, Anna. Because if you don't, I will certainly hold up to mine."

She shivered when she thought of his gruesome threats, but nodded, nonetheless. "I will."

Next thing she knew, she was roughly thrown to the ground, and her brother was on top of her, attacking her more physically than sexually. He kept her pinned down so she couldn't touch him, which upset her immensely, though he did have the courtesy to rip off the entirety of his clothing before they started, so she had something nice to look at. He was ferocious and merciless, going at her as if she was a piece of meat instead of a human being. In his eyes, she probably was. Hannah was just another person he wished dead, and he made sure she knew it through his actions.

Halfway through, her voice recovered, and her shrill screams of pain and pleasure echoed through the entire house. She was sure her husband could hear every detail, but she couldn't care less. She was also sure that her brother tore her, for the pain between her legs was unbearable, but she forced herself to deal with it. This may be the last time she ever felt her brother like this, after all.

Once he was done taking his aggression out on her sexually, he sat up, not even a bit exhausted where as Hannah was panting and sweating immensely. He stood up immediately, pulling his clothes back on before he turned to give her one final glare. "Early tomorrow, drop it in the parking lot then get out. I don't think I need to repeat the consequences if you fail."

Before she could say anything, he stalked out of the house and slammed the door, rattling the door frame from the violent action.

Slowly, she sat up, wincing as the pain flared between her thighs. She didn't have time to whine, though. There were things that needed to get done.

At her own pace, she finally managed to limp over to the couch and sit herself down, a relieved sigh leaving her as she sank into the comfy cushions. Pulling out her phone, she quickly texted her boss, reading over the message multiple times before she sent it.

_Good evening, Mr. Midford. Care to have breakfast with me tomorrow?_

After the message sent, she sat back and lit up a cigarette, popping open the bottle of wine her brother brought and pouring herself a fresh glass. She drank half of it before she received a response.

_Sounds lovely, Hannah. Does six work for you?_

A smile curled her lips. _Absolutely divine._

With one thing taken care of, Hannah glanced at the side table that was next to the couch, her eyes resting on the unopened package of pills that she had just purchased today.

"I think it's about time I make things a bit interesting myself, brother," Hannah said to herself, and with that, she tossed the birth control pills in the trash before heading upstairs to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will resume now with Ciel and Sebastian's chapters. Just wanted to add a little background in the story. Next chapter coming soon!


	12. Snowed Sebastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo finally updated blah blah blah no one cares about these enjoy.

"All right, your turn."

"Twenty hours."

"Bullshit."

I chuckled as I nodded toward my friend, bringing the half-burnt cigarette up to my lips and casually inhaling. "You don't have to believe me, but it's true."

Bard eyed me doubtfully. "You can't tell me you didn't have to piss."

"Kept a bunch of empty beer bottles around. Didn't have to go to the bathroom," I replied, my words coming out in a thick cloud of smoke.

He scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. "How did you not get ass sores, man."

"Oh, believe me, it was sore."

I exhaled another grey breath as I looked over my backyard, my eyes nonchalantly wandering over the scenery. It had been a week since I was first taken in for questioning by the police. As terrifying as it was when it first happened, things had evidently died down a bit. Sure, every day I was still expected to report to the station for more interrogating, but the entire process had gotten a bit easier as time went on. Lieutenant Faustus, or, - since he personally requested I call him by his first name - Claude, had become much more lenient with me; we started going out for breakfast every morning. At first, the atmosphere was very tense, and I didn't have much of an appetite because of it, but, as some days passed, we both slowly melted our defensive exteriors. Now, I could almost call him a friend.

Almost.

We spoke to each other smoothly and we could joke around easily, but we still remembered the main reason why I was required to report to the station every morning. Elizabeth was still missing, and I remained the number one suspect on their list, though they had been questioning others. Claude informed me, however, that if no evidence surfaced soon, I'd be released from my daily interrogations. Not like it mattered to me anymore. I actually quite enjoyed my visits with the lieutenant every day.

I wasn't used to having free time during the day, though. It had also been a week since I was put on paid leave, and I did relish in the free time, but I wasn't sure what exactly to do with it. Ciel still had no clue of what was going on, and I wanted to keep it that way; this meant I couldn't clean the entire house or tinker with things around it, for he'd surely notice, since I didn't have time to do these kinds of things when I was working. Therefore, I spent most of my time at the gym lifting weights, or at the basketball court practicing throws with my non-dominant arm. Eliot field would be open soon, as the weather was warming up and grass had already started to sprout. It had been a while since I was able to play football, and it made me very eager knowing that I'd get to play soon.

I had also indulged in the library a bit since my time off, and I hadn't realised how much I missed reading anything that wasn't insurance crap. I checked out a couple law books, and, much to my displeasure, I ended up coming across passages that detailed cases of persons who were falsely accused, then promptly arrested. Some died in prison, never seeing proper justice delivered, and one even got the electric chair. This wasn't very comforting to me.

So, I returned those posthaste, and settled for fiction books instead. A few of them were written by authors I knew, such as Dean Koontz and James Patterson, others were random novels that the librarians recommended to me. I never got around to Patterson, and Koontz wasn't bad, but not exactly my taste. The librarians' suggestions though, phew. It's amazing to me how ladies so proper could indulge in so much explicit content. But hey, to each their own.

When my days would start coming to a close, I'd leave the house to go grocery shopping or simply take a mild drive to wait for Ciel to come home. A few times I went to the movies. I still don't understand what's so special about chimichangas, though. Maybe it's a younger generation thing.

About the time I arrived home from my adventuring, Bard turned up at my house right behind me. For the past week he's come over every night to eat dinner with Ciel and me, and to just hang out in general. His relationship with Mey had been going through an extra rough patch this week, so he figured the less time he spent in the house, the better. I had to admit, it was nice having him around so often. It felt like we were back in high school again, where we were actually able to hang out every day. It was a nice, welcomed change, and I hoped it'd stick around for a long time.

This evening, Bard and I were relaxing on the deck out back, having a casual conversation as we smoked cigarettes and enjoyed the gradual sunset before our eyes. The subject had just switched to "I bet I've had a longer gaming session without any breaks," and I had just beaten Bard's by about 6.5 hours. He didn't believe me, though.

"Seriously, with no breaks?"

"Yep."

"Didn't you starve?"

"All protein shakes."

"How did you not pass out from exhaustion?"

"Energy drinks."

"You can't tell me you weren't twitching like a motherfucker."

"Diluted them with the protein shakes."

Bard just laughed, shaking his head again as he blew out a thick cloud of chemicals. "Damn. Twenty fucking hours."

I nodded, smoke coming out in soft waves from my nostrils. "Yep."

The back door creaked open, my son stepping halfway outside to look over at me. "Daddy, I'm hungry. When will dinner be ready?"

Both Bard and I turned our heads to glance at him, and grey seeped through my closed teeth as I thought. "Shit, Ciel, I haven't even started it. We were so busy talking I didn't realise the time." I glanced down at my watch, reading the delicate hands as I saw Bard shake his head from the corner of my eye.

"Just order tacos," he suggested, one last plume leaving his lips before he ground the butt into an ashtray.

"Good idea," I nodded. "I'll go grab my phone."

"Woo, tacos!" Bard yelled as I passed him, and I chuckled. I brushed past Ciel in the doorway, my hand coming up to ruffle his hair as I did so. Ciel shut the door behind him as I walked further into the house, leaving Bard outside by himself.

"Daddy, are you sure we should order dinner tonight? All we've eaten is fast food for the past week."

I turned to look back at him, noting a deep frown carved into his tiny mouth. "You love greasy food anyway, Ciel. What's the use of making dinner if everything you want to eat are fattening meals? I know you wouldn't eat a salad if I made it. So what's the difference of ordering out junk food versus making it?"

He didn't have a response at this; instead, his frown simply inflated into a small pout. Walking over to the counter, I picked up my cell phone and started dialing a number. I slid the phone up to my ear, and as soon as it started ringing he spoke again.

"You promised me you'd never smoke again," he practically accused, his face now twisting into slight anger.

My eyes flicked over in his direction, pupils gazing over his upset features. "Yes, well," I said hurriedly, hoping the waitstaff wouldn't pick up the phone mid-conversation, _"you_  promised  _me_  that you'd never miss a violin practice when you first started." My shoulder cradled the mobile up to my ear to free my hands, and I used one arm to bring up my watch, my opposite index finger tapping the glass of it in gesture. "And look at what time it is."

His face reddened as an even more infuriated emotion overtook him, though he did as told and stomped out of the kitchen, enraged footsteps heard all the way upstairs as he went up to his room to practice. Much to my relief, the waitress answered  _after_  he slammed the door.

As soon as I placed the order and hung up, Bard walked in from outside, stretching his arms and yawning as he glanced around. "Where's the kid?" He asked, though sudden, high-pitched squealing rang out from upstairs to answer his question. He covered one ear, quietly muttering an "ouch."

"Yes, ouch," I winced a bit at the noise of strings shrieking. "I take it that he's still angry."

_"Still_  angry? What happened while I was outside?"

I shook my head in dismissal. "Nothing of extreme importance. I believe he's looking down on the bad habits that I've fallen into lately."

Bard snorted while he slid over to the fridge, smoothly grabbing a beer from within before he shut it once more. "You know how kids are; he'll get over it. If you ask me, I think you two are too tightly knit anyway."

"Really?" I squeaked, my pupils widening as I eyed my friend. He nodded as he took a drink.

"Yeah, I do. You're always joined at each others' hips. Hell, before you got put on paid leave, I barely saw you outside of work."

I quickly hushed him, gesturing for him to lower his voice as my eyes floated up to the ceiling. He caught my drift and continued to speak in a quieter tone.

"Look, I get it, the whole single dad complex. You don't have anyone but Ciel, and Ciel doesn't have anyone but you. It's hard not to find comfort in one another, and people rejoice in times of hardship, yada-yada. But you realise Ciel's a freshman this year, right? He only has three more years before it's over. Done. Childhood past, and adulthood taking over. This is the time of girls and tough teachers and scholarships and manhood. Do you  _really_  think you two should be so dependent on one another while he's going through this? What are you going to do,  _drive_  him to his own prom? Sit there and shout call outs like a ref when he's having sex for the first time?"

A deep frown of consideration came over me. "I can admit that you make a fair point. Now that he's getting older, I can't expect to be there for him  _all_  the time."

"I doubt he'd even want you to," he said through a burp. "You remember what being a teenager was like. We  _all_  hated our parents. Disowned em' in our minds cause they were so damn embarrassing. You don't want to be one of those fuddyduddies."

I sat down at the table, sighing as my head fell into my open palms. "You're right, I don't. What should I do?"

Bard walked over to my side, laying a hand on my shoulder sympathetically. "You need some time apart. We'll start going out more nights, drinking, shooting hoops, playing football, anything. Give Ciel some time to open up and let him explore new things other than hanging out with his old man for once. We can even play wingmen and try to find him a girl. Getting him into a sport would probably help, too."

"He used to be a great swimmer," I offered, and Bard smiled.

"He could get on the swimming team! Sure, it's not the coolest thing, but it's something other than moping around the house all day like he does."

"Okay," I nodded, feeling more confident. "I'll bring it up. I did promise him that we'd go clothes shopping this weekend, though, so that's out of the question."

Bard threw his hands up. "Perfect. We'll all go together. I could use some more socks."

I chuckled, shaking my head at him, though I encouraged him to come along with us.

Later, when we finally sat down for dinner, Bard, as usual, eagerly chowed down on everything in front of him, though Ciel had barely taken a bite. He seemed to stare the taco down as if it personally scorned him, his eyes powerful enough to scare it into breaking in a million tiny pieces - if life worked that way.

"Not hungry?" I asked him. His eyes raised up to meet mine, the harshness softening the barest amount.

"Not really."

"I could make you a salad, if you want."

His frown deepened. "No."

My lip quirked up apologetically and I shrugged. "Offer's open if you change your mind."

Ciel appeared conflicted as a debate seemed to take place in his head. He claimed he was tired of greasy food, but he never ate  _anything_  that was remotely healthy. A great conflict, indeed.

"You're a pretty quiet kid, Ciel." Bard remarked, trying to start a conversation.

Ciel's eyes flicked over to him, though the emotions behind them were unreadable. "You've always known that about me."

Bard nodded. "I have. I'm just surprised you haven't changed at all since you were a young kid."

"I haven't," he replied, his sapphire orbs drifting back to me with a coldness.  _But you have,_  I could practically picture them saying.

I gazed down at my plate, an ashamed expression overcoming me. I was embarrassed that my son seemed to look down on me. I never wanted to disappoint him.

Bard opened his mouth to speak again, but Ciel suddenly stood up and cut in. "I'm going up to my room."

He started to glide past me, and I grabbed his shoulder, giving it a squeeze that I hoped conveyed my love, as well as how deeply apologetic I was. "Nice playing earlier, buddy. You get better every day."

His eyes melted when our gazes locked, though one of his nostrils flared in doubt; he knew that he wasn't playing his best earlier as well as I did. Nevertheless, I was still proud. I always would be.

Without a word, he continued walking, my hand falling to my side sadly as I watched him disappear up the stairs. From the corner of my eye, Bard resumed eating without a care in the world, but I was deeply perturbed. I chewed the inside of my lip in thought, doubt filling me about Bard's suggestion. I didn't want to have time apart from my son if it meant disappointing and upsetting him. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

"Maybe I should make him a cake tonight in apology," I mused aloud, worry lines crinkling my forehead.

Bard rolled his eyes. "Chill out, Mr. Mom. He's fine. Kids fight with their parents all the time; it's natural. Stop stressing about everything. I promise, you're a good dad."

My lips hung toward the ground as if gravity was working overtime, and, though it bothered me, I did as Bard told, and I left Ciel alone for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

"...And that was my first experience with a tazer."

"You really tazed him right between the eyes? Point blank in the skull?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure his brain matter was scrambled up for weeks."

I let out a laugh that was louder than my usual one, and it sent plenty of glances my way. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't acquired a particular fondness for the lieutenant after the short week we had spent together. He was a hilarious man, and after our defenses finally melted down, it became extremely easy to get along with him. According to others, this was no easy feat, but I had managed just fine, and I looked forward to the unique company Claude indulged me in.

"Ah, more faxes," he said as we approached his desk, his face becoming more stoic. Reaching down, his hands grasped onto a bundle of papers that draped down the small machine, fingers flipping through the pages idly. "When will they ever get the hint?"

"Most likely never..." I replied, letting my words drift off purposely.

"It's a legality," we both synchronized at once in mocking, nasally tones. As soon as our perfectly matched voices met our ears, we cracked up again, knocking elbows together giddily.

"Man, that joke will never get old."

"It might to your fellow officers," I pointed out, making sure to gaze at the many displeased faces around us. Claude simply shrugged.

"Guess we better get you to the interrogation room, suspect numero uno."

The lieutenant led the way, curving this way and that through the department, his usual serious demeanor replacing the one I had become used to. It was unfortunate that no one else got to see the best side of him, but I felt pretty important to be the only one to know it.

We were nearing the skinny hallway that led to questioning when the glass entrance doors were thrown open wildly, sending a loud bang resonating through the entire building. Everyone, including Claude, whipped around instantly, hands clutching their holstered guns on instinct.

"Lieutenant!" Mr. Midford shouted, his face red as if he had just finished a marathon. "I present you damning evidence that Sebastian Michaelis is  _guilty!"_

My face paled at the accusation, and I looked over at Claude, watching the small wrinkles in his face harden into a glare.

"Mr. Midford, you'd better have a good reason for bursting into the department like this."

"You bet your ass I have a good fucking reason!" He continued, stalking toward us with intense determination. "I want him locked up for the rest of his god damned life! I want him to pay for what he did to my little girl!"

Claude tensed up even further, his arms crossing in fury. "Cease your yelling this instant or  _you_  will be the one locked up, and trust me, I always have a spare cell open."

"I have evidence," he persisted, though he quieted down, his voice breathless from screaming. Shoving his arm forward, he uncurled his palm to reveal a dainty gold chain coiled around in his hand. In small, fragile letters, though it was hard to see, I knew exactly what was spelled out.

_Elizabeth._

"Lizzy's necklace," I breathed.

"Don't call her that, you bastard!" Midford shrieked, his fist swinging out without thought.

Claude instantly grabbed his hand midair and twisted his limb toward the ground, teeth gnashing as his entire body flexed for combat. "Remain calm!"

"He recognizes it," he choked out, his eyes meeting mine. "You fucking recognize it."

Claude looked in my direction, waiting for confirmation.

I nodded, gulping down bile that threatened to coat my throat. "I do. She wore it the night of our date."

Releasing Midford as soon as he was certain that the man had settled down, the lieutenant eyed him cautiously. "Where did you find it?"

"In the parking lot of Rhonda's Place," he sneered, his pupils drilling into my own.

I could feel cold sweat starting to bead along my skin, my forehead heating up as if a fever had taken ahold of me. That couldn't be right. This couldn't be happening.

Claude slipped on a single glove, holding his hand out to my boss. The man promptly plopped the necklace into his hand, and the lieutenant studied it closely.

"There is blood on it," he remarked. I felt my stomach turn. "But it'll have to be analysed more closely. I'd like to ask you a few more questions about how you happened to find this, Mr. Midford."

"Easily. Your department isn't as good at inspecting a crime scene as they think they are," he muttered under his breath, but Claude caught the remark easily, and his eyes lit up in an enraged fire.

"We have done everything we currently can for your daughter, Mr. Midford."

"Well you haven't done enough! You're letting a man who's clearly guilty of murder roam the streets while my Lizzy doesn't get the proper justice she deserves!"

"You need evidence to rightfully convict someone of murder, Mr. Midford," Claude seethed, taking in a sharp breath as he turned to look at me. "And I'm afraid we don't have enough evidence to convict, or to even keep Mr. Michaelis here for questioning. You're free to go, Mr. Michaelis. Officer Rodriguez will escort you out."

A man nodded to me and waved for me to follow him while shouts of protest continued behind me.

"This is an outrage! He is guilty of murder! He murdered my daughter!"

"Sir, I will not ask you to calm down aga-"

"A conflict of interest is what this is! This is our justice system? Crooked! This department is supporting a murderer! You're all letting a killer run free!"

The screams continued well after I left the building, though, luckily, I couldn't hear them anymore once the glass doors closed behind me. I slid into my car and shut the door as quickly as I could, my hands shaking as I placed them on the wheel in front of me.

"There was blood on that necklace," I said aloud, hoping the words would help my brain piece together what happened.  _Blood._

I needed to puke.

I shook my head, raking my fingers through my soaked hair as I tried to settle my nerves. I knew I wasn't guilty. I  _knew_  I never killed Elizabeth. And, yet, as more and more evidence seemed to surface, it all pointed to one person.

Me.

_Maybe I_ did  _kill her,_  I thought.  _Maybe I killed her and my brain blocked it out because the memory was too traumatic._

Fuck I needed to puke.

This time, I did.

The contents from the delicious breakfast I had enjoyed with Claude earlier came up easily as my stomach clenched and convulsed with the crippling anxiety that ran through my veins. I leaned out the door of my car, wincing each time I heard liquid splatter onto the pavement beneath me. I hated puking. I especially hated nerve-puking. When I had first started football, I used to vomit before every game. My coach called it nerve-puke, and thankfully, for only a short time, the team pestered me with countless heaving nicknames until I learned to finally relax on the field.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, sitting back up in my seat as I struggled to breathe. "Justin was so glad he didn't have to be on trashcan duty anymore," I reminded myself, trying to find tranquility in the memory.

I filled my mind with idle, innocent thoughts until my stomach seemed to lighten up on its cramping. My hands were still gently trembling as I slid a cigarette between my lips and lit the end. I inhaled a small gasp of smoke as I pushed my keys into the ignition and started my car. I needed to get out of here before I ran into my boss again.

If he even still was my boss.

_No, save those thoughts for when you're not behind three-thousand pounds of metal,_  I instructed myself, before I pulled out of the parking lot, unsure as to where to go.

 

* * *

 

Like the piece of shit that I am, I obviously chose to indulge in the atmosphere of our local bar, because there was no better place to relate to people going through their midlife crises than an establishment that served alcohol.

As I had originally expected, the place was dead, excluding the few stragglers who probably considered the place to be their home at this point. Of course, you have to figure, if you're at a bar before the sun has begun to set, something has went wrong in your life. Hey, I didn't judge, - or, maybe I  _used_  to judge - until I became one of the poor suckers whose life took a plummet.

The mood was somber; quiet music drifted throughout the place, resonating through the solid oak bar top and chairs. None of the usually distracting neon lights were on, as it was still daylight out, and it made the air in the room seem less inviting. It felt like we were intruding in someone's mancave other than enjoying drinks in a public environment.

Over the music, commentators on the TV spoke over the calm melody, squawking about some sports game that had aired earlier in the day. I enjoyed football, but they were discussing names that didn't sound familiar, so I immediately dismissed it as some other sport that I wasn't interested in and tuned it out.

At first, I started off with a water, and when I ordered it, the bartender gave me a skeptical look, though he complied. I then worked myself up to a couple of beers, and I was beginning my third one now. On a usual basis, I'd already be feeling buzzed, but Bard had been hanging out with me every day lately, and that had resulted in me consuming increasing amounts of alcohol. Now, three beers wasn't even touching me. I could go for a shot. Or twelve.

The heavy wood door creaked open on old hinges as someone else entered, men twisting their necks sideways to determine who it was. I didn't bother.

Taking a huge swig from my bottle, I let it thud against the counter as I swallowed, my free hand coming up to rub my temples in thought. I knew I should've been mulling over the events that occurred not so long ago, but I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I didn't know  _what_  to think.

Obviously, something was amiss if a piece of evidence was found at the crime scene, not by the police, but by a normal, every day civilian. The police couldn't have overlooked a detail like that, could they? No, it wasn't possible. I watched those crime shows on TV, and though I knew our small town police force couldn't begin to compare to the FBI, I knew they couldn't be that incompetent. Surely, they wouldn't leave a single stone unturned.

So how did he find it then? That was the real question, I supposed. I wondered if Claude found the sudden revelation as suspicious as I did.

Maybe Mr. Midford was trying to frame me.

I shivered.

"Cold, honey? Maybe that's because you're not drinking a real man's drink."

I blinked my weary eyes as I heard a female voice, and looked up just in time to see Hannah plant herself in the stool next to me.

"Hannah?" I croaked in confusion. "It's not even noon."

She chuckled, flashing me a wink as she suavely removed her jacket and handed it to the man behind the bar. "So you can drink before noon, but I can't."

The back of my neck instantly heated up, my cheekbones and the tip of my ear cartilage coloring a bright red. "I- erm, well..." My words drifted off as I became flustered, and I instead chose to observe as the bartender took delicate care with her garment, gently draping it over one of the employee hooks.

She laughed as she noticed my surprised expression. "I'm a regular here. They know me so well I'm practically family."

As if to confirm her words, the bartender nodded and gave her a knowing wink before he went back to cleaning glasses.

"Must be nice to get special treatment," I mused, giving her a small smile.

"I'm sure I paid their rent for months in advance. It's about time I get free drinks. Ron! Line up some shots for my friend!"

"Oh, no, no," I protested, waving my hand. Although I'd considered it earlier, there was no way in hell that I'd do shots now. I had to drive home eventually. "No hard liquor. It's far too early."

She gave a knowing, cocky smirk. "There you go being a hypocrite again."

My face flushed once more, but she thankfully chose not to comment on it, and she didn't try to pressure me into drinking harder liquor again, either. When the bartender questioned if I wanted shots, I hastily refused, to Hannah's amusement, but she remained silent.

"So is that your morning poison, then? Shots?"

Hannah's smile fell a little, and my eyes flicked over to the bartender, who was watching her with a curious gaze.

"Actually," she began, turning to him and giving him a small smile. "I'd like some ice water."

His reflection must have mirrored my own - shocked into disbelief - but he began filling a cup with ice and water, nevertheless.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "You came to a bar to drink ice water?"

"On the contrary, I came in here because I saw you from the window. I knew something had to be wrong if I saw Sebastian Michaelis downing a cold one at ten in the morning."

I snorted, shaking my head as I took the final sip from my bottle. The bartender set her glass down, and Hannah thanked him for her drink before she delicately plucked the glass from the counter and took a long, gracious gulp. We were silent for a few more moments until she finally spoke up. "So what brings you here?"

"Straight to the point, I see."

She shrugged with a smirk, her breasts giving a little bounce with the gesture. "If you'd prefer to have me stall, I can. I'm just curious as to why you're at a dive like this so early in the day. I thought you were more responsible than that."

"I am," I agreed, setting my empty beer bottle down. The bartender immediately took it and replaced it with a new one, earning him a praising wink from Hannah. She waited patiently for me to finish chugging a portion of the new beer, and I waited until I felt the liquid run down my entire esophagus before I mumbled. "Shit's just been rough."

Hannah hummed thoughtfully, tracing a curved talon around the rim of her glass. Taking my vague answer into consideration, she ran with it. "I take it being interrogated by the police isn't exactly a walk in the park."

"It's not that," I replied, running my hands up and down my face in exasperation. "The questions never change, nor do my answers. It's just being a suspect. Everyone looks at you like... Like you're so  _guilty._ Like they already know you've committed the crime, and they're just waiting for you to be condemned for it. It's so demoralizing. You know what I mean?"

Hannah's nose crinkled slightly as she continued to stare down at her water. "No, I don't suppose I do."

"Agh, of course you don't," I exclaimed in frustration. "Normal people wouldn't know what this feels like because they don't have to go through it. I'm such a fucking idiot."

I closed my eyes, hiding my face in my open palms. I heard the sound of a stool scraping across the ground, and once I felt slender fingers give my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, I realised she had moved closer to me.

"Sweetie, you're not an idiot. You're one of the smartest men I know."

Uncovering my eyes, I allowed them to glance in her direction, my expression fixed into one of pure seriousness. "You don't have to lie and build up my confidence, Hannah. You, as well as everyone else in this god damn town knows by now that I'm the most impotent fucker around at this point."

Hannah's eyes widened in genuine shock, her posture stiffening from being taken aback. She quickly recovered from this, however, and her sympathetic smile took its place once more. "That's not my intention, Sebastian."

"And I think you're a lovely girl," I continued, slurring a bit. "But you're married, and I don't take that lightly."

Her expression turned to one of admiring fondness, and she reached forward, stroking a soft hand over my cheek. "I know, Darling. I should've gone after you sooner. You're one of a kind."

"Please don't do this to me, Hannah," I whispered, shaking my head as tears began to form in my eyes. "Please don't do this. I can't take anymore."

Her features went blank once she noticed my distress, and though she seemed sympathetic no longer, she removed her hand from my face, clearly getting the hint. She glanced around the bar casually, before she leaned in close to me, the air from her words tickling my flesh from the proximity. "The world is against you, Sebastian."

I glanced up into her eyes, noting that they seemed honest, though a bit unreadable. "Yeah, I know. I think I figured that out when a cop escorted me out of my job," I cracked, but the joke didn't seem to reach her. Her words, and her emotions, seemed to get even more cryptic.

"I mean it. It's out of your control. Everything will always be beyond your reach, and once you get within millimeters of what you want most, it'll be ripped away from you again. You're a puppet." She sighed, standing up and pushing the stool away with her foot. "We all are."

My face twisted in confusion, eyebrows knitting together as I processed her statement. "If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn't."

She let out a fake laugh, her lips barely curling as she started digging in her purse. "I've never been good at finding the right words to say. It's my curse." She pulled out a hundred, setting it down on the counter in front of me. Before I could refuse, she continued. "Take it, I insist. You don't owe me. If anything, I owe you. You're the only man who's ever seen me as a person, though I'll never understand why or how."

She then immediately flipped around, her heels clicking as she strode toward the exit.

"Wait, Hannah!" I called, so many things rushing through my head that it was impossible for me to decrypt them all. She halted, turning only her head back to look at me as she waited for me to finish. I decided to ask the question that was puzzling me the most.

"Why did you order water?"

She gave me a strained smile. "I haven't been feeling well."

And with that, she marched out of the establishment, leaving me in a stunned silence.

 

* * *

 

My arms were crossed tightly over my chest, my shoe tapping against the polished tiles nervously. To conceal my obvious fidgeting, I let a faux smile curl my lips, and I nodded forward in encouragement at my son. "Go on. We'll wait here."

"Do I have to?" He whined. "I hate trying on clothes."

My tapping increased its hurried rhythm, and from the corner of my eye I could see Bard watching me closely. I continued to smile. "Yes, you have to. We need to make sure they fit this time."

With a final, defeated huff, Ciel turned and disappeared into the changing rooms, a bundle of various garments in his arms. As soon as he was out of sight, Bard confronted me at once.

"Dude, spill. You either put energy drinks out of business this morning or you haven't taken a leak in hours. What's with the twitching?"

"Flash sales make me nervous," I offered jokingly, not intending to lie, but preferring to set a lighter mood first. Bard didn't bite.

"I know something's been on your mind and you haven't told me. Have you heard back from Claude?"

"No, not yet," I shook my head, lowering my voice. "But there is one detail I left out about earlier this week, and it's only because I've been trying to wrap my head around it." I looked around me before I continued. "After he dismissed me from the station, I went to the bar."

"So?"

"I saw Hannah there. Or, rather, she saw  _me_  there, and she came to talk with me."

Bard's eyes bulged before he immediately took on an expression comprising of anger and jealousy. "Oh, you chose to leave  _that_  detail out? The hottest piece of ass in this town, and you decide it's better kept a secret? You're a real piece of work, Sebastian. A real piece of shit work."

Bard's voice had gotten louder from his temper, and two quiet women a few yards away began eyeing us with suspicion and disappointment. My neck turned red from embarrassment, and instead of saving myself from further humiliation, my shock rendered my logic useless and I replied, equally as loudly, "We didn't have sex! Jesus!"

This sent the offended women scampering off, which made me feel even more ashamed. I shook my head as I rubbed the heated back of my neck. Luckily, the awkward encounter paid off, for now my best friend simply stared at me blankly, his eyes blinking as he attempted to process the situation.

"Wait, so... You guys didn't fuck?"

"No," I sighed, exasperated.

Bard was now the embarrassed one, and he kicked at the ground mindlessly. "Sorry, man. I just figured you mentioning Hannah..."

"Yeah, I know, but her promiscuous nature has nothing to do with what happened, for once," I eyed the changing rooms as I paused, then judging that it was safe to proceed. "All we did was talk. She was acting really weird, though. For one, she ordered water, and  _just_  water. Then she started acting strange, telling me that I'll never be able to obtain what I want and that I'm just a puppet."

"Maybe even she knows you're a lost cause," he suggested light-heartedly, before his tone became sober. "That's odd that she ordered a water, though. Hannah could shut a liquor store down in two days."

"She said she wasn't feeling well."

I doubted her statement, but Bard shrugged at the idea. "Hey, man, I don't know. Mey's not much of a drinker anymore, but she could sure put away bottles when she was younger. Morning, evening, didn't matter. The only time you wouldn't see her drinking, though, was when she was on the rag. Said it made her sick."

I nodded as I processed his words. "That would make sense. Rachel always struggled with her monthly, too. I think that's why I never even considered that she could be pregnant."

We went silent at that, the annoying, outdated music that poured through unseen speakers throughout the store taking our conversation's place.

A few minutes later, Ciel came out, holding only two pieces of clothing that managed to pass as satisfactory. I had no idea where this kid got his finical nature from. Nevertheless, I was still surprised.

"Two? Only two fit?" I asked, my widened eyes staring down at the garments. I could see now that they were both pairs of jeans. He nodded at my question.

"What was wrong? Too big? Too small?"

"Too big," he answered, and I sighed, giving Bard a sheepish smile over my shoulder.

"Well, back to browsing."

We had already wandered through the entire store once before, but now, we were meticulously searching through each rack of clothes, trying to find something, anything, that would appeal to Ciel's taste.

"Never thought in a million years I'd be scouring through each and every piece of clothing in a store like some soccer mom who clips coupons for a living," Bard muttered under his breath, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"These moments are the result of asking for a kid," I replied, my conscience silently following up my spoken words.  _Even though I never asked for Ciel, I couldn't be more blessed._

I imagine that, as a female, clothes shopping was only enjoyable when they were shopping for themselves, because, as I was figuring out over time, shopping according to other people's taste downright sucked. I was never a shopping man myself, so doing this was already hard, but trying to find something that Ciel found attractive was much, much harder.

It was like traversing a field full of flowers, trying to pick the perfect one for that perfect person. In a field full of millions and millions of options, you'd think that would be easy. So, using your own judgment, you pick what you believe would be the perfect flower, or shirt, and meticulously review the garment, or flower, as if you were a god damned critic. Will this look nice in a vase? Will it fade after one wash? How durable is the material? Does it need a certain water temperature? Will bleach fucking kill it? So on, and so forth.

And then it hits you. Like a beam of godly light raining down from the heavens, an angelic choir resonates the most beautiful harmonies as light particles shimmer and radiate the flower, and shirt, that speaks to your heart. This is it. This will be the one that they will appreciate the most. You spend your time gently picking it, taking care not to intertwine one hanger with the other. You lift it up, pride beaming in your confident smile, and you present this wonder, victory already uplifting your spirits. Only to be shot down with one, teeny word.

"No."

"UGH," Bard and I immediately synchronized, shoving the tee back from whence it came. This had to be hell.

As frustrated as the two of us were, Ciel seemed to be enjoying our misery. I couldn't fault him, for I assumed this was payback for brushing him off the other night. I couldn't help but give a small smile at the thought. Already, he was old enough to teach me about karma.

"What about this one?" Bard tried.

"No."

"WHAT THE FUCK, CIEL!" He screamed, yet he still discarded the garment and continued on looking. My son and I couldn't help but crack up.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh your bleeding heads off you miserable..."

Bard's words faded to a background noise as I turned to Ciel, still chuckling. I held up a blue shirt, laughter dying down though the smile remained afterwards as I pressed it to his chest, admiring the color. "What about this one? It matches your eyes perfectly, Ciel," I said hopefully. I watched as he glanced down at the color, and a genuine look of confusion wandered over his features.

My smile was gone in an instant, replaced by an expression of puzzlement equivalent to his. "Ciel, what's wro-"

"HERE!" Bard shouted, and we both jumped from his victorious war cry, turning to look at him. He slammed down the shirt in Ciel's lap, crossing his arms haughtily and reciting Ciel's requirements like a slurred chant until his face turned red. "Cotton mixed with polyester NO spandex pre-shrunk no animal testing dry clean optional dryer safe iron safe washable in cold OR warm water modern gothic vibe with a hint of hipster no obvious branding and made in the USA!"

We watched as he sucked deep gulps of air in, his chest rising and falling as his lungs got used to circulating oxygen once again. Ciel regarded him with amusement. "It's fine." He tossed the white tee into the basket, Bard putting two thumbs up in relief. I gazed down at the shirt I was holding, and I reached to put it away before he grabbed my hand suddenly, his fingers curling around mine to stop me. When I glanced at him, he gave me a sincere smile. "I'll take it."

I beamed, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him tightly. "Thank god. I think we're finally done with shopping."

Four hours and $250 later, we were on our way home, and everyone was happy. Ciel seemed glad that he got new clothes, Bard was excited he'd get Mexican food, I was relieved that Ciel was pleased, and we were all happy that we would be eating enchiladas for dinner instead of fast food.

Once we arrived at the house, Ciel gave me a tight hug, thanked me, then sprinted up to his room, bags in hand. Bard flopped down on the couch, groaning like a baby, and I strode into the kitchen to fetch us a couple beers before I sat next to him.

"Next time you invite me to go clothes shopping, I pass," he muttered.

I flicked on the TV, bringing my bottle to my lips as I nodded in agreement. "Shit, me too. I never thought it'd take that long. Ciel didn't used to be so hard to shop for."

"Yeah, well if that's what it takes to have kids, remind me not to have them."

I chuckled, shaking my head as we both focused on the screen in front of us.

For a while, we all relaxed and did nothing. I drank a few beers with Bard before I decided to get up and finally start making dinner, only to realise that we didn't have cheese or beans.

"Son of a bitch," I murmured under my breath.

"Daddy," Ciel called as he entered the kitchen. "We should have a movie night."

I looked over my shoulder at him while I closed the fridge behind me. "That sounds good, Ciel. I have to run to the store first, though."

"How come?" Bard asked loudly from the living room.

"We're out of cheese and beans!" I answered loudly back, to which I received a chortle.

"Dumbass!"

I smiled as I shook my head, and I ruffled Ciel's hair after I made my way over to him. "I'll just walk down to the corner store real quick; it won't take me long. Is there anything you need?"

"More beer!" Bard reminded, but Ciel simply shook his head.

I mussed up his locks again. "I'll be back. Don't burn the house down!" I exclaimed, my last statement meant for Bard. I heard him snort from the other room.

"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll take care of him," Ciel assured, and I gave him a gracious half-hug before I headed off on my mission.

The corner store was only a couple blocks away, if that, and it wasn't worth the waste of gas and the time it took to exit the garage to get there. Besides, exercise could never hurt, and I probably needed it considering I had been drinking my fair share of alcohol, and that was the easiest way to earn a belly.

Unfortunately for my body, I had taken up cigarettes again due to Bard's constant company, and I lit one up, taking drags as I enjoyed my stroll. Maybe the walk would cancel the harm out. I doubted it.

The sun had already started setting before I left, and it was beginning to get dark once I finally reached the store. I didn't spend time perusing the aisles - I had had enough shopping to last a lifetime - instead, I grabbed the first package of shredded cheese that caught my eye, along with the first can of beans I spotted. The beer I was a little more particular about, but it took less than a minute to find it. To my relief, I was the only customer in there at the time, and I was rung up and sent on my way rather quickly.

My stomach was already starting to growl, but I didn't want to rush the walk home. The temperature had dropped slightly to a refreshing coollness, and though there were a few wispy clouds in the sky, you could still make out the outline of the moon and stars. I smiled as I stared up at the view absentmindedly, trying to trace out certain patterns in the twinkling lights. For many years as a kid, I was absolutely  _obsessed_  with astronomy. I had NASA posters all over my walls, photos of astronauts and diagrams of planets, a compiled list of names and pictures of galaxies, you name it. My parents painted my ceiling to resemble the night sky, and, eventually, they even bought me my own telescope. I spent so many hours staring up at the stars that I even lectured my parents on all the little details they got wrong on my ceiling, which I'm sure annoyed them to no end.

Once I reached middle school, however, my interest in all things space faded rather quickly, though for what reason, I didn't know. I got rid of my posters, I repainted my room, and I sold the telescope at one of our annual family yard sales.

As an adult, I still didn't have an interest in it as much as I used to, but to this day, I still remembered all of the constellations, and every single one of their locations. When Ciel came to live with me, we spent our first night together outside, me teaching him everything I know and him simply listening. I did this for quite a few days, though I was losing hope that he even cared about my astronomy ramblings; until, one night, when I brought him outside. I remained silent. No teaching, nothing. We sat there, staring up at the stars in utter quietness. I remember Ciel looked up at me, probably in confusion as he waited for me to speak. When I didn't, he raised his little fist in the air, index finger extending toward the sky as he exclaimed. "Dipper!"

And when I looked up, I noticed where he was pointing.

The Little Dipper.

I hugged him closer to me, smiling as I admired the constellation. "Yup, that's it." My excitement renewed, I grabbed his hand tenderly in my own and moved his finger around until it was where I wanted it. "And there's the Big Dipper. And over there..."

My lips curled upward solemnly as I reminisced in the cherished memory. When Ciel was given to me, I was terrified he'd want nothing to do with me. I was a stranger to this little boy, and to claim that I was his father probably made him want to distance himself even further. That night was one of our first bonding moments, though, and after that, I knew that things wouldn't be as difficult as I had first believed.

I blinked as I stared at my front door, the movie replaying in my head coming to a sudden stop.

"I got so caught up remembering that I don't remember the walk home," I muttered to myself, hoisting the bags up in my hands as I twisted the doorknob. I stepped inside as the door swung open, easily closing it with my foot once I was inside.

Then there was a shatter as the bags slipped from my hands.

The sound of glass breaking was instant as soon as they hit the floor, dark liquid spreading through the white plastic, looking for a way out. The fluid made its way onto the floor once it found a small hole in the bag, and it continued its flow gradually.

I didn't notice. I didn't care.

The TV was on, and someone was talking on the screen, but I heard no sound. All I could hear was blood pumping in my ears, and the thumping of my heart as clear as a stethoscope reading.

It was dark in the house, but there was enough illumination to see the situation laid out in front of me.

They were both on the couch. Bard was on top of Ciel.

And they were kissing.


	13. Contrivant Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go. Enjoy.

_Click. Rewind._

If there was any creature on this earth that I had to say I truly abhorred, it would be without a doubt the most repulsive, disease-riddled monstrosities that ever dared to exist: cockroaches. There wasn't a single positive trait to them, no redeeming quality that would ever allow me to see them in a good light. The vile vermin spent their days skittering across tile, hidden away within the darkest recesses of your kitchen. They hid beneath your stove, feasting upon stray crumbs left behind and lying in wait while you lived in blissful ignorance of their existence. The bastards were sneaky, slyly creeping just out of your sight while they implanted a strong foundation under your appliances. They thrive in moist, dark environments, laying egg after egg and creating a massive infestation, all without your knowledge.

_Click. Play._

And then, one day, after they have invaded your home and taken it over like the filthy parasites that they are, they explode out of their hiding places. They ransack your pantries and your cabinets, rubbing their disgusting extremities all over, contaminating your sustenance with whatever incurable diseases they carry. Your innocence on the matter is shattered easily when you reach in to grab whatever food appeals to you, only to have your hand covered in the nasty little buggers. Naturally, you'd want to get rid of them in any way possible. But it isn't always that easy. They've dug their roots so deeply into the foundation of your home that you must carefully extract them, lest all your hard work and everything you love come crashing down around you. Nobody would want to lose the precious home that they wore themselves ragged to craft. And because the pests have evolved to become so damn near indestructible that they could survive a nuclear war, even picking the most potent of noxious fumes couldn't completely eradicate them. No.

_Click. Rewind._

So you must be careful, cautious. Every single possible route to their demise must be exhausted. But everything you try is an utter failure. They just keep. Coming. Back. It's enough to drive you insane, making you so desperate for a reprieve that you would do anything,  _anything_ , just to keep them from returning. This will clearly require more finesse, a more delicate touch. You must tediously plan until you can come up with the most subtle solution that you can, so that even the smartest cockroach would be lulled into a sense of security and fall into your trap. It must be subtle, but so effective that you're able to rip them straight out of the very fibers of your home without ruining its carefully groomed stability. Surely there was at least one thing that this vermin couldn't ever resist. After all, there was only one cretin left, tainting everything with its presence time and again. Simply put...

_Click. Play._

...Bardroy is by far the most persistent, abhorrent, revolting cockroach to dare ensnare my home, my father, and I intend to snuff him out.

Of course, and much to my chagrin, I can't kill him. That would put much too much suspicion on my father, and in turn myself. I would rather him remain blissfully ignorant and keep myself out of law enforcement sights. It would be a major folly on my part to murder Bardroy, and I detested that fact almost as much as I did the man himself. That stupid bastard. I wish I could tear him to shreds. All these years he's spent, seemingly innocent, pretending to be a support for my father. He's slipped under my radar, never allowing me to perceive him as a threat.

Until now.

I flick my calculating gaze back down to my laptop screen, replaying the scene that I had already memorized. The soft rubber of buds were wedged gently in my ear canals, allowing the low voice to taint my eardrums. My eyes glazed over, staring at the screen without absorbing what I was seeing.

Frustration had been growing with each day that passed. I had been exceedingly tolerant of Bard's added presence in our home for two reasons. The first being that I knew that my father needed his comfort while dealing with... whatever it was that he was going through. I wasn't some monster, and my father was naturally a social being, so if having his friend around helped to soothe him, then so be it. The second was that it enabled me to glean information off of my father. While he would never tell me anything so as to avoid worrying me, chances were that Bard knew what was going on. Chances were even higher that they would discuss it around one another. I bugged the entirety of the house, only daring to set up cameras in the kitchen and living room, and I had the feed directed straight to my laptop. I could monitor the goings-on in my house at all hours of the day, from any location I desired. I could admit that I never dared to stream it unless I was in the safety of my room; the last thing I needed was someone catching me and having to explain what the fuck I was doing. So every day after school, I would run directly up to my room, and spend all of my spare time going over every recording.

I had been lying on my stomach, my feet dangling off the edge of my bed with an earbud in my ear, boredly listening to their pissing contest over gaming sessions. Even if there had been videofeed to accompany their talking, I would have been just as bored; they were most likely sitting on the back porch, unmoving. I tuned them out with a loud sigh, lifting my eyes to look up at my alarm clock. I could feel that thick, suffocating frustration rearing its ugly head in my chest. I tried to quell it as I pushed myself up off of my bed; this was okay. He was going through something, he deserved to be able to unwind. Maybe if I asked, he'd actually make dinner tonight.

_Click. Rewind._

But that hadn't gone as planned. I'd gone down, yes, and I had asked what would be for dinner. But then  _Bard_  had to suggest fucking tacos for the third time this week, and I wanted to scream. Stupid fucking Mexican fast food loving pigfucker. And of course, my father had just agreed instantly. Bard was the bane of my existence. He was ripping my father away from me, stealing all of his attention, making him lazy and hindering him from waiting on me hand and foot. And fuck, it was making me insecure and frustrated.  _Calm down_ , I told myself.  _He just needs Bard to support him where he won't let me._  I needed to have patience with him, until everything settled down. Or so I thought.

"You promised me you'd never smoke again," I said evenly, trying to keep the vehemence out of my voice. Bard was being such a shitty influence on my father, making him fall back into bad habits I thought he'd buried long ago. It was making it very hard to control my emotions in front of him. I couldn't let my carefully crafted mask shatter and ruin everything.

He side-eyed me, actually fucking  _side-eyed_ me, his words rushing out as his phone rung at his ear. "Yes well,  _you_  promised  _me_  that you'd never miss a violin practice when you first started." I was shocked at the balls this man had to actually tap his watch at me impatiently. Who the fuck replaced my father with this prick who didn't give a shit about me? "And look what time it is."

I felt my face contort in rage, and before I could do something I would regret, I spun on my heel and stomped out of the kitchen. A temper tantrum was normal for someone my age. Hell, even getting into a shouting match would have been normal, but the venom that coated my tongue was not. I could tear my father down easily, watch him crumble and break before my very eyes. But I couldn't do that. No, he needed to be whittled down unbeknownst to him, so that I could mould him in my image. I wanted him to become reliant on me to the point where he couldn't fucking live without me, and that would be impossible if I viciously ripped him to shreds. He wanted me to be innocent and sweet, and oh, would I be. Before I knew it, I was slamming my bedroom door angrily and ripping my violin case open. He wanted me to play? Oh, I would give him a concert he wouldn't soon forget.

Positioning the violin properly, I straightened my spine, and with a serene smile, I yanked the bow over the strings harshly, making them scream in agony. Fuck you.  _Fuck you both._ I hope you go deaf. You dare treat me like I'm nothing? I could so easily make his life hell. But I loved him so much that I didn't want to have to resort to that. Drastic measures were not yet called for with my beloved father; he was simply misguided, and he needed me to guide him back into the light, my bed, my arms,  _inside_  of me, so we could join as one. Bard, however, was a completely different matter.

I felt tears burn at my eyes, and I sped the movement of my wrist up, taking out my hurt and frustration on my poor instrument. Fuck Bard for doing this to me. I threw my violin angrily into its case and slammed it shut, furiously wiping at my eyes. "Don't take my Daddy away," I whimpered, wrapping my arms around myself and rocking slightly. "It's okay, he loves me. He does. It's okay."

Trying to recenter myself, I rubbed away the stray tears that had escaped my lashes, crawling onto my bed and pulling my laptop toward me. I plugged in my earbuds and pushed one into my ear. Maybe I would luck out, and they would be talking about something that would help me figure out what the fuck was going on. That way I could take care of my father's problems for him. Certainly I knew that he'd been questioned by the police, and I could only assume that it was about Elizabeth's disappearance. But I didn't know the extent of what was going on, or how they even linked her going missing to him in the first place. They had gone on one date, and I had given it a few days before I acted. There should have been little to no evidence at all. Unless he had done something stupid. And who had questioned him? I had too many queries and no answers. All my thoughts met dead ends, swirling around in my head until they became indistinguishable from one another.

I tapped the mousepad, the screen of my laptop coming to life at the action, and I quickly typed in my password, bringing up the live video feed. Rewinding it, I brought it back to where I saw myself stomping out of the kitchen and storming up the stairs. I double-clicked and zoomed on the video, bringing Bard's scruffy face into annoying clarity.

Which brought me back to the present. The blond man's voice bled into my eardrums as I focused back onto the screen, the shrill sounds of my violin being tortured nearly drowning out his words, though luckily Bard had never learned what an inside voice was.

 _"...You need some time apart,"_  he stated, making my heart wrench painfully in my chest. How dare he try to decide something like that for us. He had no idea what we had with each other. If anything, we needed more time together. We needed to converge our bodies. I needed him to realise how he truly felt about me. There was no way in hell I was going to let him leave me. I would dig my claws in and chain him into place. He was  _mine._  I exited out of the video after hearing Bard invite himself on our shopping trip.

"Tch," I clicked my tongue in annoyance. How dare he tag along on our date like the sex-deprived, unloved individual that he was. Who was he to force his unwanted presence onto us?

Flopping onto my back, I stared up at the carvings on my headboard, tracing over the upside-down images. Really, this was the final straw. I had fucking had it. I was done.  _Done._  would get rid of Bard one way or another. If he was going to ruin my date, then I was going to make his time there with us utter torture. He'd never want to come around us ever again. I rolled onto my side, staring at the thumbnails for all the videos I'd collected over the week. I clicked on the first one, watching as my father threw on casual clothing and left the house, pretending to go to work. I fast-forwarded until I was gone, then watched as not even ten minutes later he walked back in the front door and headed to the fridge. He flopped down onto the couch, beer in hand, and flicked through the channels before settling on the news. My nose wrinkled in distaste. He was  _daydrinking_. Bard was such a shitty influence. I'd be doing my darling Daddy a favor by removing that eyesore from his life.

I selected another random video, listening intently as my father's smooth voice filtered out of my earbuds.  _"I don't know, Bard... you're gonna think I'm crazy, but it's really not as bad as I expected it to be. I still wouldn't recommend getting questioned by the police, but he really..."_  he trailed off as I heard my door opening from the recording, and both of them turned their heads to stare up at the stairs, before my father quickly yanked his cellphone out and began dialing a number. I saw myself come into view halfway down the staircase, and then Bard was barking out, grating on my nerves.

 _"I'm feeling tacos, Seabass. You feeling tacos?"_ When my father nodded his consent, the blond oaf let out a loud frat-boy whoop.  _"Tacos!"_

If I had to eat another fucking taco, I'll vomit right on my goddamned plate. Any more of takeout Mexican food, and I wasn't sure who I'd kill first: myself or Bard. I glared at the screen. It was so obvious now that they'd been trying to make it seem like nothing was out of the ordinary, and I cursed my past self for interrupting before he could finish his sentence. I could easily gather that he was still being interrogated, but that only answered one small question. I needed to know  _who_ , and  _why._

 _Click._   _Fastforward._

Another video, one I hadn't yet been able to watch. Most of it was another pissing contest, this time about who was better at what sport, and it was starting to bore me into dozing. I zoned out, not bothering to listen to the incessant jock-chatter. My gaze slid down to my hands, and I started cleaning under my nails, my brows drawing together while my brain moved a mile a minute. I hadn't left any evidence behind. By now Elizabeth was nothing more than a viscous liquid, properly disposed of wherever Undertaker dumped the vat of acid. If he even  _did_  dump them. For all I knew, the sick bastard kept them all, just like he did eyes. But that was of no consequence to me; I knew Undertaker would never, ever get caught, and if he did, there was nothing to trace any crimes back to me. That bastard was exceedingly careful. He had painstakingly carved his craft his entire life, from what he'd let slip to me about his past, and now getting away with murder was second nature to him. The man didn't leave behind evidence. Period. I was willing to bet he even employed cleaners, not that I thought he needed them. The man killed for pleasure, regardless if it was a job he'd gotten from the Underground or not. He only ever got rid of all traces of a person if they requested him to make them disappear into thin air. Most of the time, they gave him free reign. And Undertaker did not squander that. I'd seen him create a bloody masterpiece, splattering it everywhere and leaving the woman mutilated beyond recognition. I had watched him lovingly pluck her eyeballs from their sockets, his long nails aiding in his careful extraction. And when it was all said and done, he left no real traces of himself, instead forging "evidence" to keep the police force guessing. Gluing smaller soles to the bottoms of his shoes, wearing weighted boots that were several sizes too big, tracking footprints through blood. I wasn't lying when I said I'd learned from the best.

A few words trickled into my awareness from my laptop as I stared at my cuticles.  _"...izzy's necklace... Rhonda's..."_

I bolted upright, twisting my body toward my laptop in a panicked frenzy. My shaking hand fumbled over my mouse.

_Click. Rewind._

I had to have been imagining it. There's no fucking way. I didn't hear that. I was just projecting my worry of evidence being left, making my ears play tricks on me. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, my stomach tightening painfully as my trembling finger hovered nervously over the mousepad.

_Click. Play._

My father had been outside, sitting in his lawn chair on the deck next to Bard; their every day routine ever since the cockroach decided to invade my home. I wracked my brain for everything I'd noticed the day this had been recorded. He'd seemed worse off than he had been lately, paler than normal, sweat constantly beading along his forehead, his hands seeming to shake uncontrollably. He'd smelled of old smoke and stale beer, as if he'd been sitting at a bar all day.

 _"Claude and I were heading to the interrogation room, and then, BANG! You would've thought that the glass from the door would've shattered. Mr. Midford came storming in, his trademark veins bulging and all, and he immediately started shouting at me. 'You did it, you did it.' Then he was chewing out the police department, saying they overlooked evidence that_ he _apparently found at the crime scene."_ He was speaking low, urgently as he relayed all this to Bard.

I felt my face go pale. I'd nearly forgotten that in my research I'd found out that Elizabeth was my father's boss's daughter. He must have put him on leave or fired him because of him being the main suspect. Guilt curled in my stomach at the thought; not for killing that dumb cunt, no, but for causing that Midford asshole to target my father even more. Digging my nails into my thighs, I listened intently, closing my eyes to make sure I absorbed every word.

 _"What? Evidence? What evidence?"_  Bard asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and serious. I couldn't even match an expression to that voice, I'd never, ever heard him be so somber.

I heard my father swallow loudly, sounding so painful that it made me wince, and his voice broke while he spoke.  _"He had her necklace, Bard."_

 _"He could be bluffing maybe she left it at home or somethin',"_   The scruffy oaf reasoned, but I felt my stomach drop all the way out of my body, my heart sinking heavily and filling its place.

 _"You don't_ understand," my father said urgently, enunciating his words carefully, slowly speaking each syllable as his tone dropped another three decibels.  _"I recognized it, Bard. She_ wore _that necklace on our date_ _. He knew I recognized it. And there was... Oh God... there was dried_ blood _on it..."_

_"That doesn't make any sense! How would the cops have missed that? He's gotta be framing you, man."_

_"Claude definitely found it suspicious. He told me to go home, said he wasn't going to question me anymore because of a lack of evidence. Really, I think he was just trying to save my ass."_

_Click. Pause._

No. No no no. Fuck. "This can't be happening," I whispered, shock slamming into me. "No, no, this isn't possible. This  _isn't fucking possible._ " There was no fucking way. There was no way. The bitch was wearing it, I'd seen it around her neck. Obviously she'd been wearing it while I tortured the cow because her blood was on it! So how the fuck did it get there? How the  _fuck._  It wasn't possible. Necklaces didn't fucking walk! I tore at one of my pillows before throwing it across the room, sending my desk chair into a lazy spin when it made impact. No, this... This wasn't real. I was going fucking nuts.

"You're crazy, Ciel," I whimper-laughed, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings against my ribcage. "There's just no way. She died wearing it, and Undertaker took care of the evidence for you. It isn't real. It isn't real.  _This isn't fucking reality._  Wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeup." My tiny fingers dug into my silky locks, tangling and yanking, my breathing staccatoed as I hyperventilated. "Nononono _nonononono no._ Fuck." A sob wrenched passed my lips, and I started rocking myself for comfort. "It's not real. Just like Mommy. Mommy isn't real either. Right?" I forced out a bitter laugh. "No one is real, nothing is. Only Daddy. Just me and Daddy." One hand fell from my hair, curling into a little fist that I thumped against my chest in a steady rhythm. I focused on the feel of it, the way it reverberated against my lungs. My voice was terrifyingly breathy, raising several octaves as I started singing to myself.

Even though I sounded nothing like myself, it was helping. I could feel my panic attack lessening the longer I sang. I kept singing, my anxiety ebbing and bleeding out of me. I kept repeating the song over and over again until tears broke over my eyelids, running down my anxiety-flushed cheeks. I finally trailed off as my words became unintelligible sobs, and I brought my hands up to hide my face.

I had nearly lost myself. I rocked back and forth until my tears stopped coming and my cheeks dried, dropping my hands uselessly into my lap. A calm settled over me, the exhaustion from the panic attack numbing me to my deranged emotions. I slowly laid back against my pillows, my sore and itchy eyes lazily focusing on the ceiling. I had no idea how this was possible. No fucking clue. But that was okay, because no one coud trace that necklace to me, nor my father, because she didn't go missing the night of their date; she didn't get hurt in that parking lot. If anything, this just made Mr. Midford look suspicious, just like Daddy had said.

"Be rational, Ciel," I scolded myself, curling my body up into a ball, muttering to myself. "Focus on what you've learned. Firstly, Daddy isn't being interrogated anymore, at least for now, and the man who was in charge of it was named Claude. You can work with that; with a little digging you'll know exactly who he is, what he looks like, how he shits." Wetting my lips, I drew a deep, shaky breath as my confidence started to come back. "Secondly, Mr. Midford is drawing negative attention to himself. There is always a way to work that into your favor. This is enough. This is all I need. Simple." I reassured myself before I slowly sat up, gingerly picking up my laptop and resting it on top of my crossed legs.

Pulling up the browser, I started typing away at the search bar, my tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth in concentration. As I had suspected, it really wasn't hard at all to find the information I was looking for. I stared at the picture of Lieutenant Claude Faustus, recognition washing over me in a soothing wave of relief. A smile pulled at my lips, and I dragged my index finger down the entire center of the image slowly, my head cocking to the side.

"There's nothing you can do. You're no threat, Claude Faustus, because I know your dirty little secret." I blew a kiss to the picture before closing out of the browser, shutting my laptop and tossing it to the side. Leaning back, I brought my fingers together, tapping the tips against one another as I thought dismissively. If Faustus made himself a problem, or dared to pursue imprisoning my dear father, then I could easily hit him where it hurt the most. It would be child's play to get him to drop all charges or accusations against my father.

So with that, I turned my attentions back onto how I could get rid of that fucking cockroach of a man without killing him. I chewed on my bottom lip in contemplation, narrowing my eyes. Perhaps I could make the shopping date so unbearable for him he stayed away for an extended period of time. It was certainly worth a shot, but it was by no means the only plan I was devising. Several backups were always required if things didn't go as desired, and I certainly wasn't one to not consider every single possibility.

The sound of the front door slamming announced the man of the hour's presence, but instead of my mood souring as per usual at his entrance, I felt the sweetest childlike smile pull my lips apart until my teeth showed for the first time in days. "Welcome back, Bard. I'll lead you to your undoing."

 

* * *

 

My knees were pulled up against my chest with my arms wrapped around them as I sat in the backseat of our car, surreptitiously glaring daggers at the back of Bard's shaggy blonde head. He wanted to invite himself along on our shopping trip date?  _Fine,_  let him _._  I'd make him regret that decision so that he never dared to come between us again. He wanted to steal my father's attention by nonstop talking about whatever menial bullshit that popped into his head?  _Perfect_ , go ahead. It left me without any scrutiny so that I could silently plan to rid myself of him. Hell, he even wanted to sit in the passenger seat, effectively stealing it from me with a,  _"Sorry, buddy, but I got seniority on ya,"_  and a fucking  _wink_  before plopping his ass into it?  _Whatever_ , have the fuck at it. It just contributed to my ability to blend in with the fucking interior of the car, leaving me more alone with my thoughts.

But there was one line, one fucking thing that just shouldn't be done, and like the insipid oaf that he was, numbnuts here just had to fucking do it. What really pissed me off was the fact that he had the brass balls to actually  _touch_  me. When he'd spouted his cheeky bullshit, he had reached down and ruffled up my hair, mussing it all out of place. I could feel my eye twitching from the instant irritation, and it had taken all of my self-control to force myself to give the sweetest smile I possessed in my arsenal. I slipped into the backseat, and now here we were; Bard chattering away like a brainless simpleton, my father laughing at his stupid jokes as he drove, and me calculating thousands of different ways to get rid of one bumbling cockroach. My fingers toyed with my nails, and I finally tore my unnoticed gaze away from the offending dickstick, letting my eyes glaze over and my thoughts consume me.

Suppose that Bard is a normal human being.  _Debatable,_  I think maliciously, before refocusing. Just consider, that perhaps the man is rather normal. Seeing as how he has been friends with my father for god knows how long, acting like a petty, childish teenager would hardly be enough to drive a stake into their relationship, or even scare him away for an extended period of time. Knowing my luck, he'd more than likely just never try to shop with us again, not that that did me any good. Father and I rarely went to shop for clothing together, considering I rarely grew. I had to slam a wedge between them with as much force as I could muster, and create an unmendable rift in the fabrics of their friendship. While being demanding and impossible in the store would do little more than fray their nerves and put them on edge or irritate them to no end, it more than likely wouldn't do what I really intended. So I needed an actual plan of action. I just needed to formulate it fast, so that I could initiate it at the drop of a hat, should the need arise.

Did any of this mean I was going to behave like the maturing young adult that I was whilst we perused the racks of clothing?

No. Definitely not.

I smirked vindictively to myself as we pulled into a parking spot in the mall lot, waiting patiently for them to climb out before I did the same.  _Welcome to your personal hell for the next handful of hours, gentlemen._

Once we were in the store, I pushed in front of them and began walking to the men's youth section, leading the way with confidence. I stopped in front of a rack and spun on my heel to face them, placing my fists on my hips to regard them before they could walk off. I raised a brow and cocked my head haughtily. Smirking inwardly but keeping my expression innocently serious, I levelled them both one after the other with a strict glare.

"I have requirements, and I'll only say them once." Bard smiled dumbly like he thought I was joking.  _Just you wait, asshole_. "I will only wear things that are a cotton-polyester blend,  _no_  spandex, pre-shrunk so that I won't end up washing something that fits properly at first only to have it shrink and be unable to wear it. It has to be a vegan brand because I absolutely won't tolerate any animal tested products.  _No animal testing,_ " I repeated, narrowing my eyes. "Dry cleaning should be optional, unless Daddy has the desire to take my clothing to the dry cleaners every single week," I paused here to give him a sweet smile, watching his expression blanch before continuing with, "and they need to be dryer  _and_  iron safe because ew, wrinkles and we don't have a line in our backyard.

"I want them washable in cold  _or_  warm water but not mutually exclusive, and  _absolutely not_ in hot. I swear if it's only washable in one or the other I won't even consider it, and I  _mean it._  I won't wear anything that doesn't have a modern gothic vibe with a slight hint of hipster; too hipster and I'll throw it right back at you. Branding can't be obvious because branding is so dead. Clothing with branding splattered all over it is so early 2000's. And finally, it needs to be made in the USA. I won't wear anything from China, I want to support companies that don't outsource to third-world countries or those that use child slavery to make them." I bring my finger up to tap against my chin in thought, tilting my head to the side as I hum to myself and mutter. "I think I'd actually prefer to wear Indie brands at this point."

I waved away my last comment with the flick of my wrist, before I turned and blessed them with a winning grin. They both looked pale, Bard's face falling into an expression of shock quickly morphing into regret, and my father just looked resigned to his fate. I could see the blond fool mouthing words, probably trying to memorise all of my expectations, and that pleased me immensely. Let him run himself ragged, he deserved it. As for my father, when I turned to fully regard him, I noticed that hidden underneath his surprised resignation, there was a tightness around his lips, his jaw constricting as he ground his teeth together, and beneath his eyes were dark bags. It was visible to me that he was worrying about something, probably had barely slept, and for once, I was unconcerned. It just wasn't my problem right now, and this was my revenge. This'll teach him to treat me like shit and ignore me and cater to whatever Bard wanted for dinner. I mentally shook myself; I needed to stop being consumed in my thoughts and enjoy what was presently happening.

"Good luck," I announced, cutting them loose as I turned and darted around to a rack to begin a search of my own. A collective groan sounded from them, their feet shuffling off amongst the clothing, and I smirked, utterly pleased.

It was going much better than I had dared to hope; we had been here for hours, two-thirds of the racks had been scoured at least three times each, and I could tell that both my father and Bard were at their wits ends. I clutched onto the only two pairs of acid-washed jeans that had fit nicely and I'd found satisfactory in style. I really did detest trying on clothes when shopping, I didn't see the point. If you knew your size and height, why should you have to try them on? Who knew how many sweaty, filthy bodies has squeezed into these garments surrounding me. They had to be crawling with germs, and it made my skin itch and tighten just at the thought. Better to just buy the clothes and then wash them immediately before ever considering wearing them. Just the thought of that had me ditching the jeans into a basket that I knew wouldn't see much use, but I couldn't bear to keep holding onto them. I was most definitely going to take a scalding shower tonight after being forced into the changing room five times. Someone had even pissed in one of the stalls next to mine, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. After coming out of one with nothing to show for, for the sixth time, they finally gave up shoving me in there and resumed searching the remaining untouched racks for shirts.

Aside from all of my reservations, I was really quite enjoying myself. I would watch as hope would flit across one of their faces, and they would turn to me with a relieved smile on their lips. I would get to watch the light in their eyes extinguish as their expressions drooped into despair at the simplest of words from me. It was gratifying.  _That's right,_  I thought with a sneer.  _Seach until you lose your fucking minds just to win my approval once._  I watched as Bard held up another random shirt that I'm sure he spent at least five minutes scrutinizing before he deemed it worthy enought to show me. I flicked my eyes between him and the shirt, expressionless, before I turned my head away and resumed picking through the rack I was standing at.

"No."

"WHAT THE FUCK, CIEL!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, clearly beyond exasperated at this point.

I couldn't suppress my amusement any longer, and a smile broke over my face as I laughed gleefully. Much to my surprised delight, I heard my father bark out a laugh, and I flicked my gaze over to watch him chuckle with a flood of warm affection. I was far too absorbed in studying the way his eyes crinkled up when a grin split his face, and I could see his stress practically melting away, and I was no longer listening to Bard as he stalked off and grumbled. My heart throbbed at the sight of my father, and I quickly had to school my expression as he turned to face me fully. I watched as he pressed a shirt against my chest, my pulse quickening at the light touch and sending my heartbeat into overdrive.

"What about this one? It matches your eyes perfectly, Ciel," he said softly, his smile still there. I couldn't bring myself to crush his hope this time, but his words threw me off. I dropped my gaze down to the shirt, unable to keep the expression of utter confusion from twisting my features. I studied the color, looking for any signs that it was different from every single other blue shirt that had been thrust my way today. There was nothing. It was the same fucking blue as every blue shirt that I owned. But he'd never said that before about any of those, or even any of the many that he'd held at me during this shopping trip. Of course it matched my eyes.  _They all do,_  I thought, the corners of my lips pulling down into a frown. Was I missing something? Was he just trying to win me over? I felt myself sinking onto one of the hard benches meant to try on shoes, my mind reeling, recalling every blue thing I had ever seen in my life.  _It's the same. Why is it the same? That doesn't make any..._  Oh, fuck. No, nope, no, we were not entertaining that thought right now. I squashed it in its tracks, the revelation to myself making my stomach drop out uncomfortably even as I banished it from my mind. "Ciel, what's wro-"

I almost panicked, realising that he'd obviously picked up on my distress, but thankfully he was cut off as Bard stomped up and threw a shirt down into my lap. "HERE!" He sounded victorious and extremely proud of himself. I grabbed onto the hanger and lifted it up as he began quickly slurring his words together. "Cotton mixed with polyester NO spandex pre-shrunk no animal testing dry clean optional dryer safe iron safe washable in cold OR warm water modern gothic vibe with a hint of hipster no obvious branding and made in the USA!"

It helped distract me from my internal crisis, and I watched him with amusement plastered on my face, my eyes regarding him and the shirt. I watched his face redden from the force of his words, and once he'd finished, the way his entire chest heaved as he gasped for air. I suppose I could reward his efforts as a silent thanks for saving me from my father's inquisition.

"It's fine," I announced, tossing it into the basket. I still hated him and wanted him gone, but he could have this small victory. I watched his toothy grin spread across his face as he gave me two thumbs up, but was distracted when I saw my father move to put the blue shirt back. My heart constricted at his dejected visage; fuck, he looked like a kicked puppy. I reached out before I even decided to, wrapping my small fingers around his large ones to stop him. He picked this for me, all he wanted to do was please me, and regardless of the internal disaster its existence had caused me, I couldn't reject my father anymore. He thought it matched my eyes, and that made hope and warmth bloom in my chest. Looking up at him, I gave him the most genuine smile I had let him see in a week. "I'll take it."

Pure pleasure ran through me from head to toe as he beamed, his happiness radiant, and he hugged me tightly, pressing me right up against his chest. I clutched onto him, closing my eyes and subtly breathing his scent in. "Thank god. I think we're finally done with shopping."

I could only hum my agreement as he pulled back and grabbed onto the basket. As we headed toward the front of the store, Bard stopped at the men's aisle and picked up a random packet of ten pairs of socks, barely even glancing at them long enough to determine the size and color, before tucking them under his arm.

After everything was paid for, we piled into the car. I sat in the backseat as I'd done on the way here, and watched them talk animatedly to each other. When they started discussing dinner, Bard immediately hopefully suggested tacos. I forced myself not to roll my eyes; this grown ass man was more of a fucking teenager than I was. How many times could he eat shitty takeout tacos before he got sick of them?

I piped up quickly, leaning forward to bring myself into the sight of the rearview mirror. "Daddy, I want you to make enchiladas. Please? I love your enchiladas." My bottom lip jutted out into a pout, my eyes wide as saucers, and it didn't take long for him to cave and agree to make them. Bard didn't seem deterred or even upset; probably because it was still Mexican food, and my dad was a pretty good cook.

As soon as we got home, I jumped out of the car, throwing myself at my father to give him the most forceful hug that I could, squeezing him tightly and saying a small thanks, before I picked up my bags and fled upstairs. I slid into my door, quickly unlocking it and throwing it open. Once I'd shut it, I relocked it and tossed the bags down, digging through them to find that blue shirt. I grasped onto it, tossing it onto my bed next to my laptop. I paused, opening the computer and speeding my fingers over the keys to type in my password. Once it booted up, I clicked over to the live feed, removing the earbud cord and turning the volume on low so that no one outside of my room would be able to hear. I hated spending so much time up in my room, away from him, but I knew that this was the only way I'd get any information, and I was frankly quite sick of being ignored in favor of Bard.

Returning to my previous task, I walked over to my closet, swallowing as I slowly opened the door. I pushed the hangers along the bar until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out several of my blue shirts, turning around and bringing them over to my bed. I laid them all out, before setting the new one above them. I studied each of them in turn, comparing them to one another, and I felt dread coating my stomach lining. This wasn't real. None of it was real. I wouldn't,  _couldn't_ , accept this. I hung everything back up, and then set about removing the tags from my new clothes. I'd send them down the chute later; for now, I needed to make sure I had everything I needed for my plan.

 

* * *

 

My feet carried me silently down the stairs, my craving for affection and attention spurring me down further until I reached the bottom. I'd had a shower already, and all of my new clothes had made it down to the laundry room. I'd dressed in comfort clothing, which consisted of charcoal grey joggers and a loose t-shirt. I trailed into the kitchen, where I knew my father was. I wanted to be held and snuggled up into his side, and there was only one surefire way I knew of to achieve that.

As I breached the kitchen's entrance, I parted my lips and made my tone as light as I could manage. "Daddy, we should have a movie night."

"That sounds good, Ciel," he answered over his shoulder, shutting the cabinet he'd been hunched over before straightening out. "I have to run to the store first though."

Before I could ask, Bard raised his voice and yelled from the couch that he'd made his home. "How come?"

"We're out of cheese and beans!" My father shouted back.

"Dumbass!" The blond chuckled out in response.

I watched as my father smiled fondly, and he walked over to me to ruffle up my hair. I'd never understand everyone's obsession with messing up my hair, but I felt only affection when he did it to me. "I'll just walk down to the corner store real quick; it won't take me long. Is there anything you need?"

I heard Bard call out about beer, but my thoughts immediately went into overdrive as I shook my head no. I wasn't expecting an opportunity so soon, and the walk to and from the corner store would give me approximately enough time to accomplish what needed to be done. I couldn't waste this opportunity, because I had no idea when another would arise.

"I'll be back," he said as he messed my hair up even further. The next statement out of his mouth was louder and clearly directed toward the blond idiot. "Don't burn the house down!" His words earned him a snort.

"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll take care of him," I said sincerely, wrapping an arm around him in a partial hug. He had no idea what I truly meant by those words, but I wasn't lying when I let them pass my lips.  _Don't worry, Bardroy,_  I mused.  _You'll be well taken care of, in more ways than one._

I watched my father walk out of the front door, waiting several minutes before turning and heading back upstairs. It would do no good if he came back prematurely; I was already in a time crunch as it was. Once I was back in my bedroom, I ran over to my closet, the carpet quieting my footsteps, and I yanked the door open. Dropping down onto my knees, I shoved my shoes away carelessly and pulled back the carpeting, fumbling with the edge of it. I folded it beneath my legs and picked up the metal strip hidden there, using it to pry up the loose wooden boards. I set them aside, leaning down to dig through the crawl space, pushing unnecessary items out of the way, my fingers settled on an old metal first aid kit. I pulled it out, flicking the clasp open and looking over the contents.

Luckily, Undertaker had stressed the importants of keeping a little bit of everything with him at all times; you never knew when a drug would come in handy, or if a situation you hadn't planned for had popped up and required a little help from a substance. Digits carefully pushing glass bottles or plastic pill containers around, I searched until I found what I was looking for. I picked up a small container that fit neatly in the palm of my hand; it closely resembled those mouthwash strip packages for people with halitosis, and I closed my fist around it as I shut the box and slid it back into place. I stood up quickly, stopping by my desk to rifle in a drawer for a pair of tweezers, and exited my room.

I headed down the stairs, and once back in the kitchen, I yanked the fridge open. Relief washed over me; this would have been a lot harder if there hadn't been any left. I lifted up the last beer and set it on the counter, popping it open and letting it fizz. While I waited for the froth to die down, I carefully flicked open the container, not daring to touch the innocent looking white strips sitting inside. Using the tweezers, I freed one of the squares of its confines, and calmly dipped it into the beer. It bubbled frantically as it dissolved the strip, and I gave an extremely satisfied smile as I clicked the package closed. Once Bard noticed something was wrong, it would be too late; the hallucinogenic was completely flavorless and had no odor, and it was potent enough that it would start working as fast as I'd need it to; I should beat my time limit just so.

I strutted out of the kitchen, determined feet leading me into the living room, and I stopped by the couch, noting the fact that the beer that Bard had been nursing was very nearly empty. With a victorious smirk, I cleared my throat and tapped his shoulder, forcing my expression into an innocent mask.

"I brought the last beer for you, Bard," I hummed lightly, letting my cheeks redden slightly and darting my eyes to the ground.  _Look bashful_ , I lectured myself.  _Make him believe that you're appreciative._  My gaze slid back up to him momentarily as I spoke slowly, shyly. "It's a thanks for today. You know, for all your help."  _Look back at the floor_ , my thoughts instructed. Lay on the act thick, or else your manipulation won't work. I held out the glass bottle to him, trying to seem apologetic for putting him through hell today.

After a few seconds of silence, I heard the shifting of fabric signifying that he had moved forward, and he lifted the bottle from my grasp. Bard brought his free hand up to ruffle my hair, and when I looked at his face I saw that stupid grin of his plastered there. It took a lot of work to keep myself from flinching away from his touch, and even more not to sneer at him.

"No problemo, kid." He sat back, and I watched eagerly as he took a large swig of the drugged alcohol. My predatory gaze went unnoticed by him as he went back to watching whatever sports thing he'd been formerly consumed with.

Feeling the pressure of time, I walked calmly out of the living room, and once out of sight, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. I shut my door and strode back over to my closet, dropping down to yank out everything I thought I would need. I felt entirely too unprepared, having to rush from this being suddenly sprung up on me, but who knew when I'd have this opportunity again. I tore open my bag of pre-made prosthetics, searching for everything I would need to pull this off. I yanked out item after item, assessing them carefully before deeming them perfect for my needs. The next bag I rifled through was clothing, and this I had to be even more selective about. It had to be convincing and bold, but not so eye-catching that it would draw stares to it automatically. I settled on a few articles, laying them down with my prosthetics. Out came my bag of makeup, and soon I was gathering everything up in my arms and scrambling to the bathroom, my small legs carrying me as fast as they could manage.

 _Hurry, hurry, hurry_ , I thought along with the wild pounding of my heart, and I shut the bathroom door behind me, locking it. I set everything down on the counter and looked over it.

If there was one thing that I knew with absolute certainty about the cockroach currently vegetating on my couch downstairs, it was that he was a bonafide straight man. I doubted he had ever questioned his sexuality or looked at a dick with anything but disdain. This would be extremely challenging, hence why I needed the assistance of a hallucinogenic. I couldn't just march downstairs as-is, to a completely sober Bard, bend over and stick my ass in his face and beg him to fuck me. The man would probably vomit, or his dick would retreat inside his body faster than light, and that would spell game over for me. I had to remember to be subtle, manipulative. The drug would just make his mind that much more pliable. Implant an idea into his tripping brain, and the hallucinations would do the rest of the work. If Bard believed that a beautiful woman was coming on to him, he would be putty in my hands. It just took finesse, and an ability to seduce even the strongest-willed men.

Information on my father wasn't the only thing that I'd learned over this week of surveillance. One night when they'd been blitzed out of their minds, they started talking about Mey, and the relationship struggles that the blond was having.  _They had a very_ heartwarming  _bonding moment, to be sure_ , I thought with a sarcastic eyeroll. So not only was Bard a straight man, but his libido was suffering; his sexual appetite was being denied, and with all of these factors coming into play, he would be weak to his needs. It would be so easy to break the man, to have him seek out pleasure, I just had to play my cards right.

First things first, I stripped out of my clothing completely, standing entirely nude in front of the mirror. After unzipping my makeup bag and pulling out a skin adhesive, I painted it onto my chest, avoiding my nipples so that I wouldn't have an excrutiating removal later, and then picked up a set of faux breasts, aligning them perfectly and pressing them against the glue. I held them in place for several minutes to give it ample time to attach to my skin. I moved quickly, sliding my arms into a bra and fastening it behind my back. Expertly tucking my dick, and pushing my balls back with it, I winced at the discomfort, but taped everything into place securely. I slid the panties up my legs and into place afterwards. While Bard should be high out of his mind by now, it wouldn't do me any good if he felt my dick and freaked out. Not like I would get hard with  _that_  cretin touching me.

Next came the last article of clothing; a tight button-down dress shirt that would hug my newly found curves sinfully. Annoyingly enough, I had taken a page out of  _Hannah's_  book, and I left the top three buttons undone to show off the faux cleavage. Even I had to admit that that woman knew how to wear a blouse to her advantage.

Makeup application was almost second nature at this point; if I wasn't using it to disguise myself as a woman, I was using it to change up my features just enough to be mistaken for someone else. A light layering of foundation, followed by expert dabs of concealer, which got blended into my skin. I lined my eyes to make them pop, even daring to give the eyeliner a slight wing, before applying the god forsaken eyelash wigs. I absolutely loathed false lashes; they made my lids heavy and itchy, but I would be damned if I wouldn't go all out to ensure my success. The lipstick I chose was red, one I myself wasn't very fond of, but I was sure that Bard would take to it like a duck to water, and I carefully lined my lips before applying it. The smallest of dabs of gloss was the final touch, and I rubbed my lips together, pouting them slightly in disgust at my appearance. I felt like a child playing in their mother's makeup for the first time, but I forced those thoughts away. It was worth it. This was entirely worth my desired outcome.

Washing my hands and drying them quickly, I finally slid my prosthetic gloves into place, gluing them down and blending them into my skin with a small amount of latex. Once dried, I matched it to my skintone and studied the false skin. Sitting on the tops were fake nails, long and sensually curved, the deep burgundy color brilliantly reflecting the light. Hopefully these would satisfactorily. I felt apprehensive, nerves coiling my stomach up. This had to work. This couldn't fail. This could ruin  _everything._

 _But it won't go wrong,_  I assured myself. Of course it wouldn't. Nothing I ever did went wrong. I always thought everything out carefully, acted cautiously. I'd never been caught before.  _I_  never fucked up my plans. I could do this.

With my peptalk out of the way, I gathered up my things and exited the bathroom. Dropping them off in my room, I made my way quickly down the stairs. I was running out of time. I silently moved to stand behind the couch, hoping beyond all hope that the hallucinogen had kicked in and was already working. I carefully, slowly slid my arms around his broad shoulders, letting the tips of my nails drag along his throat. My lips pressed near the shell of his ear, and I exhaled lightly against it, raising my tone several octaves to give my voice a seductive, feminine lilt.

"Bardroy," I purred, swallowing inaudibly as I studied his every movement for a positive or negative reaction. A shiver ran visibly down Bard's spine as his breath hitched in his throat. That was a good sign, and I took it as encouragement to continue. My fingers splayed out, running down over his shoulders, brushing along all of the muscles in his chest and arms. Pressing my chest against his shoulderblades, I allowed him to feel the squish and pressure of the faux breasts, and he let out a low groan.

"What's- I-" his voice sounded so shaky, his tongue having trouble fitting inside his own mouth as he slurred and stuttered the few words that he'd managed to wrap his head around.

Confidence filled me, and I guided his head to look back at me. I took one look at his eyes - the way his pupils were blown wide, the black sucking up nearly all of the color of his irises until there was only a thin ring surrounding the dark abyss - and knew without a doubt that he was far gone. Bard was completely strung out, tripping from the drug, most certainly already hallucinating.

"Such a big, strong man," I cooed at him, making my voice breathy and high, trying to mimic an aroused woman. "Aren't you going to touch me?" I asked coyly, dragging the nails along his stubbly jawline.

He shuddered, his eyes trying to focus on my face, but his gaze was drawn to my red lips. With a considerable amount of effort on his part, he swallowed loudly, and forced his words out slowly, as coherently as was possible in this state. "Who... are you?"

I giggled, circling around the couch, watching as his head turned to keep me in his sights. I knew he was trapped in the fantasy that I was spinning for him. "Hush, Bard," I soothed, grasping onto his wrists and bringing his hands up to press against the tits sitting against my chest. "Please, touch me,  _baby,"_  I said the last word with a keening moan, my eyes locked onto his face, observing every slow reaction that morphed his expression. "I just want to please you." My words came out a little too low, a little too throaty, but he didn't seem to notice.

In fact, Bard seemed quite enthralled. His hands squeezed of their own volition, pushing the fake tits together, and his expression began glazing over with lust. I fought off a wince as the adhesive pulled at my skin, trying to ignore the discomfort.

"...fuck," he mumbled, and I took that as an invitation to slide one of my legs on the outside of his.

"Don't you want me, Bard?" I purred, giving him an innocently sexy look. "Don't you want to ravish me, leave me looking debauched?"

"I.. dun't know whaf that means."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. _Really? Debauched? That fucking uneducated... No, I don't have time to dwell on that. I have to hurry_. I carefully straddled his lap, one hand moving down to cradle his growing erection. His response this time was immediate; he let out a tortured groan, hips rocking up to grind into my hand. I had to bite my tongue on a praising statement that nearly slipped out, doubting very much that Bard would appreciate being called a good boy. "That's right," my voice was encouraging, kept purposefully breathy, and I leaned forward to breathe heatedly into his ear, flicking my tongue out against the lobe teasingly.

His hands began to roam and grope along my body, one large appendage coming down to grab and squeeze my ass. I let out a surprised squeak, which only seemed to fuel him. His mouth parted, and his low voice rumbled out in a slur, his unfocused eyes taking in what I was wearing. "D'ya wear my shiiirt," he started, mouth accidentally drawing out the word in a strange accent, before he continued, "jus for me?"

I smirked, forcing another seductive giggle between my lips. "Of course I did, baby." I rubbed my hand along his near fully hard dick, biting and sucking on his earlobe and earning and appreciative grunt. "But I bet you'd be more interested in what's under it, wouldn't you?" I guided one of his hands beneath the shirt to cup the outside of my bra, and his breath hitched again.

"Uhfuck," he gasped out, and I saw all of his control easily crumbling beneath my prodding. He just needed one more push, one more fucking thing, and I'd win. "'s this real?"

I had to hurry. I was running out of time. It was now or never.

Moving my hand out of the way, I ground my hips down into him, the feel of my body rubbing against his obscenely coaxing him into full hardness, and he growled, actually  _growled_ , in arousal. Bingo; hook, line, and sinker. I rolled my hips like a fucking slut, forcing out tiny, gasped moans, entirely fake yet sounding too convincing to my own ears.

"Please, Bard, please..." I whined pitifully. "You won't break me, so please." My tone was tortured,  _begging_  to be ruined. "Show me what a beast you are. Get rough with me, baby."

I could practically hear his control snap; as he lost it, he shifted his body before throwing me back against the couch, drawing a shocked gasp out of me. Then, just as fast, he was on me, hands running all over me; between my legs to grab at my inner thighs, sliding up to pinch my ass, cupping and massaging the prosthetic tits. His mouth latched onto mine hungrily, tongue forcing its way between my lips; his eyes were closed as he practically fucked my mouth with his wet muscle, and I let out an unbidden whine at the feel of it. Most of me was disgusted to have  _Bard_  do this to me, but another, smaller part, got a thrill out of being manhandled the way I was. Fuck, if only Daddy would hurry up and do this to me. My hands came up to grip into his shirt, just at his shoulders, so that it could look like I was being forced down and trying to shove him away. At least the first part was very true; I  _was_  being forced down into the couch. Bard was grinding his hips almost viciously against mine, his hard cock pressing insistently into my thigh. For all I knew he was trying to fuck me into the couch through our clothes. I shouldn't feel turned on by that, it was  _wrong_. This wasn't Daddy, this shouldn't make my dick twitch and threaten to grow erect, it shouldn't strain against the tape and make me wince.

My eyes fell shut, my expression twisting up into one of distress. Holy fuck, holy fuck this was not okay. What was I going to do if my father just never came home? Would I just lay here, let Bard strip me and fuck me senseless? That was  _not_  the way I wanted my virginity to go. My mind was getting hazy from my intense panic, and from the unwanted pleasure licking its way up my spine every time his crotch ground against mine in just the right way. No, no, I couldn't let this happen, I couldn't let this get carried away. His tongue was forcing mine to dance erratically against his, silencing me, and I felt myself tense up in pure anxiety. This was not okay, no, not allowed. I dug my fingers into his skin, nails biting into him, ripping at his shirt almost violently.  _Get off, get off, get off of me,_  I chanted inside my head, panic blinding me to my entire surroundings. I shoved as hard as I could, but it wasn't nearly enough, I wasn't strong enough. Fuck, he was stronger than me. Shit. Maybe that shouldn't have surprised me, but it did, and I didn't know whether to be scared or aroused.

Thankfully, I didn't have time to even process that line of thinking, as the sound of glass bottles ripped through to my awareness, and my eyes snapped open, gaze immediately flying over to the front door. There my father stood, his expression a perfect contortion of utter shock and disbelief.

 _Welcome home, Daddy,_  I thought faintly, my heart pounding against my ribcage wildly...


End file.
